


Beyond Two Winchesters

by babybrotherdean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Actual Cockblock Dean Winchester, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Wincest, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Growing Up, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Beyond Two Souls, M/M, Masturbation, More tags to be added, Possession, Possessive Dean Winchester, Pre-Stanford, Protective Dean Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sam Winchester's Visions, Season/Series 01, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, Stanford Era, Suicide Attempt, Telekinesis, The Roadhouse, Underage Prostitution, Winchester-style Christmas, Young Sam Winchester, in which Dean is a disembodied soul entity who is attached to Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-02-12 15:17:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 78,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2114772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I'll be right back, Sammy, don't worry." Dean marches back inside, determined to find and help his parents before they get themselves hurt.</i>
</p><p>-</p><p>
  <i>Suddenly it's too late, and the second floor is caving in, and something inside John breaks when he realizes that not only has he just lost the love of his life; his firstborn is gone right with her. </i>
</p><p>-</p><p>
  <i>It’s then that a certain entity becomes bound to Sam, soul-deep, but it’s several years before father or son realize exactly what- or rather, who- it really is.</i>
</p><p>-</p><p>Supernatural AU in which, along with his mother, Dean dies in the house fire. He can't leave, though. Not when his little brother is still around to protect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So this was, as is mentioned in the tags, inspired by the video game _Beyond Two Souls_ , but you needn't have played the game to follow it. It was mostly the idea for the whole situation with the soul entity connection situation that came from it. Everything else is purely Supernatural. For those of you who have played the game, I've taken some liberties in terms of the abilities Aiden had versus those I'm giving to Dean, so keep an open mind. Anyways, enjoy.
> 
> PS: a huge shout-out to two people in particular who've helped me with this, whenever I needed people to bounce ideas off of or yell at when things weren't working. Alice, Sara, you guys are the best.

On November 2nd, 1983, Dean Winchester is four years old, asleep, and- for the moment, anyways- blissfully unaware of the events taking place in his baby brother's bedroom, no more than twenty feet from where he lays.

It's his mother's shout of "Sammy!" that initially rouses him, makes him blink his eyes open and rub at his face and try to fall back asleep. It isn't until his father shouts, too, and he smells something like dinner burning that he decides that something must be very wrong.

He sits up and gets out of bed, leaving his room and heading straight towards Sam's nursery. He's still trying to rub the bleariness out of his eyes when he's met by his father halfway there, and all he can process is that Sam's suddenly in his arms and he has to gogo _go_ , right now, take his brother outside as fast as he can, and he obeys the order without question, sent off before he can say a single word.

It's a bit of a blur stumbling down the stairs, struggling to support Sam's weight and steer himself out the front door, to not think about the heat and the smoke and the acrid smell flooding his nose, but soon enough he's on the front lawn, looking up in horrified awe as his home lights up the night sky in oranges and yellows and heat that shimmers in the air. It's as beautiful as it is terrifying, and it's all he can do to cling to his brother, trying to catch his breath past the smoke that tries to crush his lungs.

It's what feels like years, but is probably only several long moments later that Dean starts to worry about his parents; starts to wonder why they haven't come outside yet, together and safe. So he moves far, all the way to the untouched sidewalk, and very carefully puts Sam down there, kissing his brother's forehead and promising that "I'll be right back, Sammy, don't worry," and makes sure Sam isn't going anywhere before turning again to face the house. He takes a deep breath and marches back inside, determined to find and help his parents before they get themselves hurt.

Moments later, John Winchester staggers out of the house, a haunted look on his reddened face, and scans desperately for his sons. He feels his stomach drop when he spots his youngest alone on the front lawn, and spins on his heel to go back inside, but- but suddenly it's too late, and the second floor is caving in as the entire house seems to fold in on itself, and something inside of John breaks when he realizes that not only has he just lost the love of his life, but his firstborn has been stolen away right with her. 

It's with a face half-frozen in shock and devastation that he slowly makes his way over to Sam, who's started crying in his distress- whether it's been caused by the noise and heat, or if the boy can somehow feel the abrupt loss of his mother and big brother isn't certain- and scoops him up in his arms.

It's then that John swears to hunt down and end whatever did this, whatever thing tore his family from him; pinned his wife to the ceiling and burned her alive before dooming Dean to the same horrible fate. It's then that he promises himself that nothing's going to get in his way. It's then that he resolves to do everything in his power to keep his remaining son safe.

It's then that a certain entity becomes bound to Sam, soul-deep, but it's several years before father or son realize exactly what- or rather, who- it really is.

-

It takes Sam, upset as he is, a couple of days to really register the change that's taken place in his mind. He's so caught up in wondering about why they're moving and where's Mommy and why doesn't Dean play with him anymore that he doesn't actually notice what's happening for a little while. Eventually, though, he starts to become aware of- of another presence. He can feel emotions that aren't his, and it's almost like someone's there, even when it's just him in the backseat or one of the bedrooms that don't belong to him and that change by the day. The first time he notices it, Sam is scared, and he's on the verge of tears, mouth already open to cry out but then- then something changes.

Suddenly, the extra feelings aren't vague; they're _directed_ , like they have a purpose, and then Sam's calming down, eased by what suddenly seems like a familiar presence. It feels like someone he knows; someone who belongs there, and soon enough, he's smiling again, more than happy to bask in the warm feelings being washed over him.

It's easy as breathing to accept the change, even if he doesn't understand what any of it means or how abnormal it might truly be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this whole idea started when I was playing _Beyond Two Souls_ with my brother. I was playing as Aiden, because he's great, and it just suddenly came to me- since Wincest is probably on my mind more than is actually healthy- that, were Sam and Dean in the same situation, Dean would be such a perfect Aiden. So this idea was born, and it's come a long way since then. I've started the next part as I type this, and it'll hopefully be up within a couple weeks, so stay tuned. Thanks so much for reading!


	2. Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Dean can't remember a whole lot from the fire. He remembers saving his brother and heading back into the house, but everything past that is sort of a blur._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part one is going to be divided into a number of timestamps, so it's a little choppier than the later chapters will be. This covers Sam's life between one and five years of age. Enjoy your daily dose of tiny, baby Sam!

Dean can't remember a whole lot from the fire. He remembers saving his brother and heading back into the house, but everything past that is sort of a blur. He tries not to think about it too much, preferring instead to focus on the here and now- which, currently, is the back seat of the Impala as his father drives down some nameless highway, towards some small town where some kind of creature or spirit or _something_ has been bothering the locals. Dean hadn't cared enough when John had been getting the lowdown over the phone to learn the specifics, having been thoroughly distracted by his baby brother.

Sam's just starting to talk, at almost one year old. He hasn't said anything particularly coherent yet, but Dean knows it's only a matter of time. His brother's smart, he can already tell, and sometimes he makes sounds that are almost like "De" which is close enough to his name that he's satisfied. 

Dean can't quite take care of his brother the same way he used to be able to. He doesn't really understand the whole situation, though he feels like he's getting closer every day. All he knows is that he doesn't exactly have a body anymore, not the way he's sure he did six months ago, and his father no longer seems to be aware of his presence. Sammy still sees him, though, sort of. Dean's brother doesn't quite look at him, exactly, but he babbles at Dean, and responds to the things Dean feels, and Dean knows there's some level of communication between that he doesn't know how to explain. He knows he's linked to Sam, though; connected in some way that they weren't in the past.

It's this bond between them that tells Dean his brother is going to wake up from his nap, and very soon, and he can only hope Sam isn't going to be cranky. He doesn't really appreciate long car rides like this one, stuck in a car seat with no toys to play with and no chance to stretch his legs. 

Slowly, in the way only very young children can really achieve, Sam blinks his eyes open, huge and bleary and curious. As usual, they flick around in search of something they never seem to be able to pinpoint (Dean likes to think it's him) before settling on some arbitrary point on the back of John's seat. For a moment, Dean's sure Sam is going to start crying, sees his mouth open, but then-

"De."

And just like that everything seems right in the world and if Dean had a mouth to smile with, he wouldn't have been able to wipe it off his face. He feels light and happy and undeniably proud and he can pinpoint the exact moment those feelings flow into Sam, because his brother smiles an enormous, not-quite-toothless smile, claps his hands together, and giggles.

"De, De, De!" he coos, happy and smiling and reaching out for someone who isn't there.

That's when John notices, and Dean sees him glance in the rear view mirror. He looks vaguely interested, but it's not quite enough, apparently, to pull over or even act especially surprised. "Skipped over 'Da' and went straight to the 'De', huh, kid?" he says, turning his eyes back to the road. Dean realizes that their father is under the impression that Sam had been calling for him.

Dean can't help but feel a tiny bit smug.

For a while after that, it's the only thing Sam will say. Granted, it's the only thing Sam probably even knows how to say, but it makes Dean happy all the same. His brother uses it in all sorts of ways, with different inflections- demanding, and happy, and cranky, and sad- and Dean learns very quickly to assess Sam's needs based entirely on the way he says his name.

Dean's thankful that John seems more amused than irritated by his son's babbling, just rolling his eyes whenever Sam starts chanting the name again.

\--

Dean starts to learn a little about the things he can do in his new form around the same time Sam's learning how to stand up and walk.

Besides his connection with his brother, Dean's starting to notice how he can move things, nudge them without actually touching them, and he's starting to experiment with it a little bit. 

It's mostly little things at first- coffee mugs, television remotes, papers and books- but once he starts gaining confidence in his abilities, he goes for bigger targets. He's careful to make sure John isn't looking or is out of the room before he starts moving chairs, desks, even the beds in the motels that his family is now living out of. Somehow, he understands that their father wouldn't react well to seeing things move, seemingly on their own. It's too close to the things he hunts for a living for him not to respond negatively. 

It had even freaked Sam out at first, scared and confused him, but Dean was quick to reassure him, send him calm and happiness, and now it's actually something he enjoys. He can never stop giggling when he's on the bed and Dean moves it, and Dean learns very quickly that it's an easy way to amuse the toddler for long stretches of time. 

The first time Sam goes to stand up on his own, and seems to be teetering towards falling down, Dean doesn't even think about it before he's using his power to carefully nudge his brother back up. Sam's so astounded by it, apparently, that he falls down immediately after, anyways. He's more than eager to try again, though, and with a little practice, Dean discovers that even if he can't touch his brother, his little nudges are helping the younger boy learn to walk and keep his balance much faster than might have been expected.

It feels a bit like cheating, but Sam's so happy that Dean can't actually bring himself to care.

\--

Sam's just over two years old when John decides he's old enough to have a babysitter.

Before that, he'd done his best to stay around, take care of his son as much as he could, but in reality, he has creatures to hunt, people to save, and he needs to put his priorities in order. So he finds a local sitter, some middle-aged soccer mom, and leaves her in the room with Sam after making sure the firearms are all safely tucked away in the car.

Sam had been calm enough when the woman- Mrs. Georgiston, if Dean remembered correctly- was introduced to him, cooing over his slightly chubby cheeks and his soft hair and his tiny hands, but as soon as John's out the door, it's obvious that he's starting to have second thoughts. His eyes get big and watery, his lower lip wobbles, and the only reason Dean doesn't do anything to stop the waterworks is because he's not all too fond of the woman, either. She has something plastic about her, too peppy to be real, and he doesn't like the idea of her being in charge of caring for his baby brother.

As soon as the first wail escapes Sam's throat, Ms. Georgiston's eyes widen in apparent horror and she rushes to his side where he's sprawled out on the floor, fake nails clacking together as she hovers over him unsurely. Dean can see the way she winces every time his brother screams, and she looks on the verge of having a breakdown or possibly calling the police.

"De!" Sam's crying, little arms flailing, eyes watery as tears escape them. "De, De! De!"

"Your daddy's not here, sweetie," the woman tries to soothe, and if he had the ability to do so, Dean would've been inclined to roll his eyes. He's had enough of watching her suffer, though, and he hates seeing Sam upset, so he decides it's time to intervene. With what's become a practiced ease, he thinks calming thoughts, happy thoughts, projects them loud and clear so his brother can feel them as easily as he would his own. It takes a moment, since Sam'd been so worked up, but it's easy to see the effect it has on Sam once it reaches him. He starts to settle down, stops screaming, and his eyes become more curious than anything else.

"De?" he says again, softer, tears slowing. Dean's happy to see him calm down, and that feeling has Sam smiling within seconds. "De!" he coos, giving a happy little wiggle.

Ms. Georgiston looks baffled, but relieved, and she cautiously picks Sam up off the floor. "There's a good boy," she praises, and Sam doesn't really like that, but Dean's quick to smooth the displeasure over before it can turn into another screaming fest.

The rest of the evening passes in much the same way, with the babysitter doing things to upset Sam and Dean calming his brother down. For the most part. It's sort of entertaining, he thinks, to watch her struggle with trying to make it better all on her own, until Sam's distress becomes too much for him and he fixes it.

Dean times it perfectly so that when John's just returning from his work, opening the motel room door, Sam's crying again, and a frazzled-looking Ms. Georgiston is quick to return the boy to his father. John's barely able to pay her before she's leaving, tense and twitching a little bit, and Dean can't help but be a tiny bit pleased with himself.

Sam calms down quickly in his father's arms, especially with a little influence from Dean, and soon he's all but beaming up at the man, who just shakes his head with an amused smile.

"Takes a special kind of woman to handle a Winchester," he chuckles, a sad note in his voice, before heading the rest of the way inside. Dean decides not to think too hard about the words, focusing instead on helping Sam fall asleep. 

\--

Sam's first stint with the public education system is when he's just barely four, and they've settled down long enough that John is inclined to enroll him in a local preschool. It's nothing fancy, but it'll keep Sam occupied for a few hours every day, and that's all John's looking for at the time. Dean decides that as long as no one tries to pull anything funny with his brother, he can try to deal with the whole situation.

Sam's been talking for a while now, forming mostly-coherent sentences, and it doesn't take a long time for Dean to realize that most of them are directed towards him. His brother still hasn't managed to say his name all together, but that doesn't actually bother him as much as he might've expected it to. John, as per usual, ignores his babbling for the most part, and seems to be under the impression that Sam has conjured up an imaginary friend. Dean thinks it's maybe a little reckless to assume something like that, given that the man hunts imaginary things for a living, but he's more than happy to go along with it.

On the car ride there, Sam seems excited, first, but becomes more and more nervous the closer they get to the building. As happy as he always seems about spending time talking to Dean, Sam's actually a pretty shy kid, and it's not hard to tell that the idea of meeting so many other people all at once is scary to him. Dean resolves to put most of his focus that day into keeping Sam calm and happy, regardless of whatever else is happening.

He doesn't have quite as much influence as he used to over Sam's emotions, but it's obvious he still has some effect. When Sam was younger, his mood had depended almost entirely on what Dean was feeling, but recently he's started to become more independent in that sense. Regardless, he still does what he can to make sure his brother is in a good mood more often than not, only partly because it makes him happy to see Sam happy.

Soon enough, John's making the turn into the parking lot, and by now Sam's almost whimpering, on the verge of tears, and Dean does what he can to soothe him before it gets out of hand. John gets out of the car and moves to grab Sam from the backseat, scooping him up in his arms, shutting the door, and heading towards the building. It's two stories, faded brick, colourful paint in some of the windows. 

"Hey, buddy, don't worry," the man's saying, a little awkward but entirely sincere. "Daycare isn't hard, you just have to hang around, maybe take a nap, don't steal stuff from other kids. Sound okay?"

Sam's calmed down to the point of sniffling, and he looks at his father with big eyes. "Don't wanna," he mumbles, looking back towards the car mournfully.

John sighs, readjusts Sam in his hold as he nudges the door open with his hip. There's a sign above it welcoming them to Kidz World and Dean is suitably unimpressed. "I know, but I've got a lot of work I have to get done this week. I don't want to leave you all by yourself, Sammy, and I know you don't like having a babysitter." He smiles a little bit, trying to reassure. "Can we just try this out, see how it goes? Maybe you'll make some friends or something, yeah?"

Sam still doesn't look pleased to be there- Dean can't help but be a little bit amused- but eventually he nods. "'kay," he says, sounding unsure. "But only if De's gonna stay wit' me."

Dean can't even put words to how happy the statement makes him, and John's rolling his eyes but nodding. "'Course he is, Sammy." They're at the sign-in now, and John's setting Sam down on the floor. "Go play, alright? I'll be back in a few hours." He doesn't wait for a response before heading towards the receptionist. 

Sam stays where he is for a moment, pouting, but Dean gives him a gentle nudge and then he's heading towards a corner of the room that's unoccupied by other toddlers, where some building blocks are stacked neatly, untouched. He still seems a little reluctant at first, lower lip trembling, so Dean decides to take some initiative. 

Making sure no one's paying any special attention to the area, he carefully lifts one block off the top of the stack. As expected, Sam's eyes widen a little, the way they always do when Dean moves things, and soon enough he's giggling and trying to swat the thing out of the air. He succeeds, and it isn't long until he's playing with the blocks of his own accord, clapping them together and stacking them up in little towers.

"Down, De!" he giggles, pointing at a tower he's just finished and smiling a huge, gap-toothed smile. Dean interprets the request and uses a little nudge of energy to knock the tower down, blocks scattering as they hit the floor. Sam claps his little hands with delight, immediately going to build up another tower. It's adorable, and Dean is more than happy to go along with the game. 

A few minutes later, one of the ladies in charge is approaching Sam, who's in the middle of reconstructing his tower. "Gonna use all the blocks," he's mumbling, tongue poking out between his lips in concentration. "Make it really big, n' then you're gonna knock it down, 'kay, De?" 

The woman seems caught somewhere between amusement and concern, and she crouches down beside him, silent for a minute before apparently deciding to introduce herself. "Hey, you're Sam Winchester, right?" Sam ignores her for the most part, only glancing up at the sound of his name before focusing again. "Hi, Sam. I'm Ms. Mackay, but you can call me Amanda." She's a brunette, one of the younger-looking workers here, wearing bell-bottoms splattered with paint and a white cotton shirt. She's quiet for another moment, watching as Sam builds his tower, and Dean wonders what she wants. "Why don't you go and play with some of the other kids, Sam?" And then Dean understands; she wants him to make _friends_ , the way their father does. 

Sam pauses in his construction to give Amanda a look, brow furrowed a little bit like he doesn't quite understand what she's trying to suggest. "I don't wanna," he says, then, returning to his blocks like the matter's been settled. 

Amanda looks a little affronted, but presses on, undeterred. "But aren't you lonely by yourself? I bet there's other kids who'd love playing with the blocks, too."

"M'not by myself," Sam replies, matter-of-fact, as he works. "I got De. Don't need no one else."

The words warm something in Dean, and he can see the way the feelings affect his brother, making him smile while he works on his tower.

Amanda seems confused for a moment before understanding and something like sympathy washes over her features. "Sam," she says, voice gentle like she's approaching a sensitive topic, and Dean decides that he doesn't like it at all, "is De your imaginary friend?" 

Sam does stop then, turning to look at the woman with a frown. Dean's displeasure is working to amplify his own, apparently, and it's obvious when he speaks. "He's not 'maginary," Sam says softly, looking back at his blocks and continuing to pile them with a certain quiet determination. "He's the best. Plays wit' me when Daddy's not home."

Amanda frowns at the response, and Dean doesn't notice the concern in her eyes at first, too busy allowing the happiness from Sam's declaration wash over the both of them. "Is your dad away a lot?" she asks, leaning in close like she's telling Sam a secret.

Sam doesn't seem bothered to answer, apparently too upset by the suggestion that Dean doesn't really exist to want to continue the conversation. He's almost done with his tower, now, and he has to stretch up on his toes to add the last couple blocks to the top. It's remarkably stable, considering it was built by a four-year-old, and Dean makes sure his brother can feel his pride.

"Down, De," Sam says quietly, a tiny smile on his face, and Amanda's still watching, and because Dean doesn't like her very much, he doesn't bother waiting until she looks away to do as Sam asks. He nudges the tower just right so that it topples over slowly, then all at once, the blocks making a very satisfying, unified sound as they hit the floor. Sam's smiling properly again, and Amanda looks dumbfounded, and Dean's more than a little pleased with himself.

"He's not 'maginary," Sam mumbles again, mostly to himself as he starts his construction all over. Amanda doesn't reply this time, standing slowly and turning to head over to the other children, the picture books and dolls and paints. They're left mostly alone for a while after that. 

-

It's a little while later, after snacks and nap time (Sam spends the whole while whispering to Dean as he's huddled under the blanket, just talking about anything and everything and going silent only when the supervisors pass by) that supplies for finger painting appear. Sam's intrigued- he hasn't had a whole lot of opportunities to play with paint, at this point in his life- and he's quick to grab a few paints and pieces of paper before retreating back to his corner, smiling to himself. Dean half-expects someone to try and stop him, and Amanda very nearly does before sighing and letting him go. 

Sam settles down next to a pile of blocks, the remains of his latest structure, abandoned in the rush towards snack time, and spreads out the supplies he'd grabbed. He spends some time just playing around with the paint, smearing it across the first piece of paper and being completely enthralled by that in and of itself. Dean watches with amusement, occasionally helping by nudging a tub of paint closer when Sam reaches for it. 

Eventually, his brother seems to get a little more accustomed to the whole activity, and goes for a clean sheet of paper, pausing. "I don' know what to make," he mumbles, and anyone watching would probably assume he was talking to himself, but Dean knows the words are meant for him. His only response is something like a quiet content, and Sam makes a thoughtful sound before perking up. "I can draw you!" he exclaims suddenly, and before Dean really processes the words, Sam's going for the paints again. 

Dean's a little confused, if he's honest with himself. He understands that Sam wants to paint him, of course, and the thought sends a happy little pulse through his being, but... what, exactly, does Sam intend to put down on the paper? He knows he isn't visible to his brother, that he doesn't have a physical form, and he can't imagine where Sam's going with this. 

Sam, on the other hand, seems to know exactly what he's doing, and hums softly to himself as he works. It take several minutes, and an unexpected amount of concentration from his brother, but eventually, Dean's surprised to actually recognize the picture that Sam's creating. 

It's been years since Dean had a body, but there's no denying that the face slowly being created is his. 

It's rough around the edges, and a little smeared, and the details aren't as sharp as they might have been had the medium been something other than fingerpaints, but Dean doesn't have to try too hard to recognize the shape, the colour, hell, even the tiny, insignificant details of his face. He looks different than he remembers, older, and suddenly he's wondering if maybe Sam can see him, after all. 

Sam seems more or less unfazed by Dean's confusion that morphs slowly into awe, smiling a little bit to himself as he paints. Eventually, he's finished, and he settles back with a satisfied expression. "De," he says, decisive, and nods a little to himself.

If Dean is baffled by the whole thing, then Amanda, when she finally works up the ambition to visit again, is completely flabbergasted when Sam informs her that the boy he's drawn is De and reaffirms that he is not, in fact, imaginary. Amanda looks a little dazed as she walks away, and if Dean had the physical capability, he thinks he would've laughed. Sam remains unbothered by her reaction and goes back to playing on his own, Dean joining in as requested.

All in all, daycare goes a lot better than either of them had anticipated.

-

Sam's only other communication with the staff is when he asks if he can have a box, something flat, to hold his painting in. One is given to him and he tucks it away with care.

Later, when John picks Sam up, no mention is made of the painting. It's obvious that their father is curious about the box, but he doesn't, apparently, care enough to ask. 

It's the first of many times that Sam will draw his brother, and the first of many things that he will choose to hide from John.

\--

Preschool is abandoned pretty quickly on the grounds that it's too expensive and John doesn't think it's the safest place for his son to be. Dean agrees with him, but is still rather wary when plans are made to leave Sam with another hunter for a few days. Though John has mentioned him before, Bobby Singer is a stranger, and by the time they get to Sioux Falls, Dean still isn't completely convinced that this is a good idea. 

When Bobby answers the door, Dean's honestly a little surprised. He looks just as gruff as the few other hunters John's come into contact with, but there's something... almost warm about him. The man greets John with a curt nod, but when he notices Sam, standing half-hidden behind his father's leg, he crouches down and holds out his hand. 

"You must be Sam," he says, and the voice is as rough as Dean might've expected. "My name's Bobby. Guess we're going to be spending some time together, huh?"

Sam still seems hesitant, but Dean's slightly wary acceptance of the man works to calm him a bit. He reaches forward to grip one of Bobby's thick fingers in something of a handshake. "Hi," he says, voice somewhere between curious and shy. 

Bobby smiles, and it's small but genuine and Dean likes him a little more. "I think your dad needs to get goin' soon, but I can give you a tour of the place if you want." He gestures behind himself needlessly, indicating his house. "You can even pick where you want to sleep."

Sam visibly brightens at the words, and he barely stops to give John's leg a quick hug before he's hurrying inside, Dean being pulled along with him, amused. 

The two adults are still talking quietly at the door, but Dean doesn't bother listening and it's obvious that Sam is otherwise distracted. He's wandering through the room he'd made it to- a study, perhaps- with wide eyes, staring at the massive stacks of books and papers. Even at his age, Sam's already started to show quite a bit of interest in reading, so Dean can't blame him. The toddler is half-reaching for a book high up on a shelf when the front door closes and soon enough Bobby is joining them. 

"See somethin' you like?" he asks, gesturing to the books. "Might be a bit too advanced for a kid your age, but you can look s'long as you promise to be careful."

Sam does, going so far as to offer the man a pinkie swear- Bobby accepts with the utmost seriousness- and holds his hands out expectantly. Bobby chuckles and grabs the book Sam had been reaching for, settling it carefully in the boy's outstretched arms. "Knock yourself out," he says, amusement in his voice, and Sam hurries off to the couch. 

He settles himself quickly, the huge tome carefully cradled in his lap, and he sets about opening it. A bit of dust escapes, but Sam seems unfazed, eyes widening a little at the inside of the book. 

"Look, De," he breathes, pointing to what seems to be a depiction of some kind of winged creature. Dean can't put a name to it, and it's got this kind of terrifying beauty about it, and he wonders if it's the kind of thing his father hunts. 

Bobby's watching from a distance, a bit of a smile on his face. "Yeah, your dad mentioned you do that," he notes. 

Sam glances up at the words, frowning a little bit. "Do what?" he asks, confusion in his voice.

"Talk to... De," the man replies, shrugging. "He's pretty important to you, huh?"

Dean's honestly surprised that Bobby seems to be interested in his existence, seems to actually believe Sam to some extent. The train of thought is interrupted by Sam's response as he nods seriously. "Yep. He's my best friend in the whole world, and he takes good care of me n' stuff." It's obvious when Dean's happiness reaches his brother, because soon the boy is smiling.

"S'that so?" Bobby hums thoughtfully, suddenly looking rather contemplative. "So his name's De? Did he tell you that?"

Sam shakes his head. "No, he doesn't talk," he replies, dismissive. "I just know. His name's Dean-" Sam had started using his full name about a month ago, but still prefers to call him De more often than not- "but I call him De."

Dean isn't sure Bobby quite hears the end, because his eyes widen a little bit and he pales near the middle. "He, uh... Dean, huh?" 

"Yep." Sam doesn't seem bothered by the change in Bobby's demeanour, apparently happy to go on looking through the book. Dean wonders about the man's interest in his name, but soon his brother is calling his attention to another picture and he forgets to be worried about the whole thing. 

-

Bobby Singer might not know John Winchester all that well, but back when the man had lost his home as well as most of his family, Bobby had been the one he'd been directed to. As a result, he knows all about the incident, how intent John is on finding and killing the thing responsible. 

He also knows about John's eldest son, Dean Winchester. 

As much as John likes to mention his wife when he's talking about revenge, Dean rarely come up in conversation. Bobby isn't sure why, but he thinks maybe it hurts him to think about. Maybe even more than Mary. 

Regardless of the reason, though, Bobby just so happens to be one of the very few people- they can be counted on one hand- who's aware of the existence of John's older boy. It's because of this that Sam's so-called imaginary friend has him on edge when he learns what Sam calls him. It's too much of a coincidence when Bobby's pretty sure that even Sam himself doesn't know about Dean, his deceased older brother, and it throws him off. 

For the next several days while Sam is under his care, Bobby keeps a close eye on the boy. It isn't long before he starts noticing things. 

They aren't huge, nothing that would stand out had he not been watching for them. But once he is, it's very clear that something- whether 'Dean' is responsible or not has yet to be seen- is influencing the environment around Sam, as well at Sam himself. 

He first notices the things that move. Sam will be reaching for something, or even just looking at it, and suddenly it just... moves towards him, seemingly all on its own. But Sam doesn't seem fazed, often smiling or laughing or even going so far as to say something to the effect of "thanks, De!" and overall, it's very strange. Bobby's worried about a haunting, some kind of spirit or poltergeist or demon or something that's bound to turn against Sam and become malicious, but... it never does. Besides that, the numerous salt lines and protective sigils around his house don't seem to affect the whole situation at all, which honestly baffles him a little bit. 

It's not long after that when Bobby starts noticing other things, too. Smaller things, that he needs to look harder for, but starts to notice, regardless. When Sam talks to 'Dean', as he often does, he'll pause, tip his head to the side with slightly unfocused eyes like he's listening for some response, and then usually smile or frown or give some indication that he has, in fact, received one. Even more than that is when the boy starts to become upset; the couple times he's started vocalising how much he misses his father, he'll go quiet for a moment, tilting his head like he's listening intently, before a little smile appears on his face and he goes off to play with 'Dean' some more.

It doesn't take Bobby very long to accept that, in some way or another, Sam's older brother appears to have stuck around in the mortal world and has shouldered the responsibility of taking care of him. 

Ever wary of vengeful spirits, he's subtle about doing little tests to make sure Dean isn't anything he may have to hunt in the future. As he'd expected, though, nothing seems to affect him, and soon enough, Bobby decides to let it go. Dean obviously isn't the average spirit, and he's doing nothing but help Sam, act as his playmate and protector and best friend, and there really doesn't seem to be any good reason to interfere with that. 

-

A couple days after he's come to the conclusion that De and Dean Winchester are one and the same, Bobby waits until Sam's deeply asleep, curled up on the couch surrounded by books, and then very, very quietly approaches him. 

He feels a little bit ridiculous doing what he's thinking of doing, but decides that there's no harm trying. Just in case. He clears his throat softly before speaking. 

"Dean?" he asks, voice low, conscious of Sam's sleeping state. "Are you, uh... can you hear me?"

There's a moment of silence, utter stillness, and Bobby's just about ready to dismiss the whole endeavour, and then one of the books teetering high at the top of its pile moves. It slowly lifts up before floating down to rest on the floor beside the couch. Bobby swallows thickly, nodding. "Alright. So... I take it you're Sam's brother, yeah? You, uh... died in that fire a few years back." He pauses before adding, a little hesitant, "I guess... once for yes, twice for no?"

It takes a moment, but the book shifts slightly, just once. Bobby lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Right. Does Sam know? About who you are."

The pause is longer this time, and Bobby almost thinks he's upset Dean before the book moves again, shifting left and then right. Sam doesn't know who Dean is, doesn't realize that all this time, he's been talking to and playing with his dead older brother.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he murmurs. "How 'bout your dad?" The response comes instantly this time, two more movements. "Right. Well... I guess I just wanted to know. And..." He hesitates a moment. "I'm glad you're still around. Takin' care of him." Bobby tilts his head, indicating Sam on the couch. "The kid needs it. S'much as I respect him as a hunter, I can't imagine John's doin' a real good job at being a parent."

Bobby almost laughs when the book moves once in an affirmative response. "Yeah, s'what I thought. Well... it was good talking to you. I'll just keep this between us, yeah? I don't see any reason to let your dad know what's up."

In all honesty, Bobby isn't terribly inclined to tell John at all, largely because he knows how the man is likely to react. John's a good hunter, ruthless when it comes to monsters, but if he turns that attitude towards Dean... there's no way it'll end well for anyone involved- namely, the three Winchesters. 

Dean doesn't seem bothered to respond, but the book floats its way carefully back to the top of the stack. Bobby smiles a little bit, then heads upstairs to turn in for the night. He's satisfied with knowing that there's someone else watching over Sam, and sleeps better than he has in a while. 

-

After the admittedly one-sided conversation he'd had with Bobby the night before, Dean had decided that he more or less trusted the man completely. In his line of work, it's surprising not that he believes in Dean's existance, but that he apparently accepts it and is willing to let him be. More importantly, he's promised not to tip John off, which is something that Dean really just doesn't want to deal with. 

It's morning, now, and Sam's just waking up, shifting around and mumbling incoherently until eventually he's blinking his eyes open and yawning. He sits up, stretches, and says his usual "mornin', De," before sliding off the couch and padding towards the kitchen. 

Bobby's already up, has been for a little while, now, and is preparing something of a breakfast for the two of them. There's toast and scrambled eggs and Sam visibly brightens. "Hi, Bobby," he greets, smiling as he makes his way into the kitchen. 

Bobby turns to smile at Sam before returning to the stove. "Mornin', Sam." There's a pause, something hesitant in his face, but then he continues. "You, too, Dean."

Dean's shell-shocked, and it's enough to stop Sam in his tracks, eyes widening a little bit. "You..." He doesn't seem sure what to say, caught between confusion and excitement as his emotions mingle and twist with his brother's.

Bobby turns to face the boy again, smiling more openly now. "Figured I might as well say hi to Dean, too," he replies. "Seems I've been awful rude, ignorin' him up 'til now."

If Dean'd had any doubts about Bobby left in him, it's in that moment that they fly out the window for good. 

-

The rest of the time that Sam stays with Bobby, the man conducts conversation with both Sam and, on occasion, Dean. It doesn't take Sam long to start acting as something of an interpreter between them, telling Bobby whatever Dean feels about what he's just said. It's extremely liberating, Dean thinks, to be spoken to by someone other than his brother, and he becomes very fond of Bobby very quickly. 

When John finally returns to retrieve his son, ready to drag Sam across the country to chase another monster, it's understandable when he isn't met with enthusiasm. 

Of course Sam is excited to see his father again, is more than happy to wrap his arms tight around John's leg and rub his cheek into it affectionately, but as soon as the words "it's time to go" pass John's lips, he's pulling away, eyes wide. 

"But... but Daddy, I like it here," he protests, only a little bit of a whine in his voice. Mostly he just sounds sad. "Unca Bobby's really nice-" He'd given Bobby the title a couple days ago, and the hunter had done nothing to protest it- "and he tells good stories, and his couch is really comfy!" 

Dean knows it's more than that; these past few days have been the first time Sam's ever really had something like a home, as far as he can remember. He doesn't want to leave, either, not ever, but knows that their father is going to scoop Sam up and get them back on the road as quickly as possible. 

John shoots a look at Bobby that's hard to interpret- there's something about the set of their father's mouth that almost makes it seem like he's angry at the man, though Dean can't imagine why he would be- before turning back to Sam. "Yeah, I know. But we've got to get going. I've got work to do away from here."

Sam jumps in before he can continue. "Then I can stay here! And you can come visit."

John takes a long moment to reply. "We'll come back. When we're in the area, you can stay with Bobby. Okay?" Sam doesn't get much of a chance to protest before he's being lifted up into his father's arms, and John's giving Bobby a curt nod before heading out the door. 

Sam sulks the whole way to Texas, and Dean's a little ashamed to admit that he spends most of the trip in a similar mood. He just hopes they'll make it back to South Dakota soon, for both of their sakes. 

\--

The next time John decides to settle for a while, they're somewhere in Iowa, and Sam is officially old enough to be enrolled in kindergarten. Dean still remembers how preschool had gone, and how neither of them had liked it a whole lot overall, but Sam's protests are quieted when their father starts talking about _school_ , and _learning_ , and Dean knows that's the end of the discussion because his baby brother is an extremely curious child, and he thrives on new information. If there's a chance he'll get to learn new things, Sam will go, and John seems relieved that the not-quite-an-argument (it's hard to consider anything an argument when one participant is five years old and only reaches as high as the other's knees) ends relatively quickly. 

Much like the last time he'd given public education a try, Sam is very obviously excited at first, but soon he's nervous. Dean tries to send him calming thoughts, and he knows his brother feels them, can see how Sam's eyes dart around like they're trying to see him, but he doesn't really calm down any. It's somewhat upsetting that Sam has become almost completely emotionally independent from him, but that isn't Dean's biggest concern right now. 

John doesn't carry his son this time, though he accepts Sam's hand in his own when the boy grabs for him. "You'll be fine," he assures. "You can play, you can look at the books, whatever you want, buddy. Sound okay?"

Sam levels his father with a look too unimpressed for a five-year-old to be able to conjure, and it's more than a little amusing. Especially with his hair flopping around like it's started to; he refused the last time John suggested he got it cut, and it's starting to show. 

"Okay," Sam mumbles, pouting a little bit. It's endearing, and makes Dean all the more determined to make sure his day goes well. As shy as his brother tends to be with strangers- until they annoy him, at least- it shouldn't be hard to amuse him and keep him happy, provided he stays mostly on his own and the other kids don't feel inclined to bother him too much. 

John leads his son into the building- one story, faded red brick, typical small-town America- and down a short hallway until they find the room with a sign for kindergarten. Dean feels a wave of deja-vu, taking in the clumps of toddlers scattered around the room, so much like the daycare. Just like then, John sends Sam off to go play while he speaks with the teacher, and just like then, Sam needs a little prompting from Dean before he heads off to play by himself. 

What's different this time, though, is that some of the other kids are looking at Sam. He receives a couple gap-toothed smiles and enthusiastic waves, but seems too shy to respond, opting instead to duck his head, bangs falling over his eyes, and try to keep to himself. Dean's more than happy to support him, a vague sense of approval pulsing through their bond, and he notices when Sam smiles a tiny bit. 

Dean has already decided that if Sam has to go through this, spend the day- probably more days- in kindergarten, then there's no reason he can't keep his brother entertained all by himself and reduce the risk of any other children getting too close. There's something possessive, there, that he chooses not to think about, deciding to focus instead on what he sees as his duty to protect his baby brother. 

True to form, Sam makes his way straight to the blocks, struggling a little bit to drag the canvas bag towards a corner of the room padded by colourful foam squares. He plops down and starts building, already whispering to Dean about how he wants his big giant building to be toppled over when he finishes with it, anxiety apparently forgotten. 

He continues like that for a while, smiling a little to himself as he stacks his blocks and wonders aloud about how best to stack them for the most exciting effect when Dean knocks them down, but suddenly he goes quiet and his eyes widen a little bit and he looks down. Dean suddenly notices another boy who's approached Sam, smiling a little shyly and plopping down a couple feet away. 

"Hiya," the boy greets, smile widening a bit to reveal a couple gaps where he must've lost some teeth, "I'm Tim. What's your name?"

Sam eyes the boy- Tim- suspiciously for a long moment, probably largely because Dean is rather suspicious of the kid, himself. He seems harmless enough, especially considering he's no more than six years old, but Dean's generally opposed to people who try to speak with his baby brother. 

It seems, though, that Sam's trying to work on his emotional independance some more, because he offers Tim a little smile. "I'm Sam," he says. "Nice t'meet you."

Tim's smile grows and he inches forward a little bit, closer to the blocks. "Whatcha buildin'?" he asks, peering curiously at the half-constructed tower in front of him. 

Dean still hasn't decided how he feels about this whole situation, but he grudgingly admits to himself that it's nice to see the proud little smile on his brother's face. "A tower," he replies, matter-of-fact. "N' when I'm done, De's gonna knock it down."

The words made Tim furrow his brow a little, glancing around. "De?" he asks, confusion evident in his voice. "Who's that?"

"My best friend," Sam says without hesitation, and Dean feels something warm wash over him. "Y'can't really see him, but he's always wit' me. And he does stuff, too." Sam nods to himself, satisfied, like he's explained all there is to know about Dean. 

Tim nods seriously, like he understands, and looks back to the blocks. "Can I help?" he asks, and as much as Dean wants his brother all to himself, the boy seems too genuine to turn down, and Sam agrees with a smile. 

They stack blocks together in a companiable silence, only the occasional request for a specific block or childish giggle disturbing the quiet, and Dean has to admit that he likes seeing his brother happy like this. The knowledge that someone else has brought it on bothers him, but he ignores the feeling for now. Soon enough, they've used up all their blocks and are sitting back to admire their work and Tim looks at Sam curiously. 

"Is... De gonna knock it down, now?" he asks, still glancing around like he expects to finally see someone else there. 

Sam nods, smiles, and whispers his usual "down, De," and it's all the encouragement Dean needs to nudge the building just so- he's gotten very good at knowing exactly where to press to get the desired effect- which causes it to topple over and crash to the floor, the impact dulled by foam but no less exciting to watch. 

While Sam's giggling and smiling like he usually does when Dean does what he asks, Tim's eyes are wide with apparent awe as he looks at the scattered blocks. "That was cool!" he exclaims, looking back over to Sam without losing the wide-eyed look he's sporting. "It just... fell down!" He seems so fascinated by the whole situation, and Dean can't help but feel more than a little amused. 

Sam nods excitedly, still smiling his little-kid smile, like there's nothing in the world but sunshine and unicorns who fart rainbows. "De pushed it," he replies proudly. "He does lotsa stuff. He's the best."

Tim looks like he's just about ready to reply when another couple kids- two girls and one boy- wander over and there's a short exchange and then suddenly all five of them are playing together with the blocks. 

All six, really, once Sam prompts Dean to join in. 

He tries not to get too involved, but he's quickly losing himself in the general bubbly happiness of the whole thing, nudging blocks around and helping Sam with his little tower, smaller now that many of the other pieces are in use elsewhere. His little brother seems unbothered by this, content to sit in the company of his peers, separated by a couple feet, and giggle to himself and whisper to Dean as he builds up his tower. 

It's not long after that another boy wanders up to the little group that's gathered, and Dean is a little unprepared for how immediately he dislikes the kid. He's just got an air of... of arrogance, or something, and the fact that he's making a beeline for Sam isn't helping matters. 

The boy doesn't bother with greetings when he stops in front of Sam. "What're you doin'?"

Sam glances up before ducking his head again, obviously shy. "Buildin'," he mumbles, and Dean is distantly aware that his own dislike of the boy is probably affecting his brother, as well. 

"Duh." The kid seems awfully unimpressed. "Why're you by yourself? Don't have any friends?" There's a sneer in his voice that Dean decides he hates. 

"M'not by m'self," Sam replies without hesitation, not looking up this time. "Dean's here."

Almost like he was expecting the answer, the kid answers immediately. "I don't see no one. What, is he pretend or somethin'?"

It's an accusation that they haven't heard since Sam's time in daycare, and Dean's proud of his brother when he immediately goes on the defensive. "S'not pretend," he says, quiet but firm. "Helps me build n'stuff."

The boy seems unmoved by the answer. "My brother told me 'maginary friends are for babies," he says, wearing the kind of malicious grin that Dean wouldn't have expected on a six-year-old. "Guess you're just a baby."

Sam does look up, then, and Dean feels his anger increase exponentially when he sees the slightly watery glare his brother is directing at the boy. "I'm not a baby," he replies, only a bit of a waver in his voice. "N'Dean isn't pretend."

"Aw, the baby's gonna cry!" And Dean's just about ready to jam a block so far down the kid's throat that it'll get stuck in his esophagus, is already picking one out when the teacher finally steps in, all disapproving looks and gentle reprimands as she leads the boy away. 

As soon as the immediate threat is gone, Dean's attention is laser-focused on his brother again, who's sniffling a little and retreating to an unoccupied corner of the room. He plops down on a cushy pillow he finds and curls up, eyes already leaking a couple tears. 

"M'not a baby," he whispers, and Dean feels his heart break. He forgets about the anger, instead focused on wrapping his little brother with comfort and love as best he knows how. A tiny, watery smile appears on Sam's face and he rubs at his eyes. "You're not pretend," he adds softly, so much conviction in his voice that Dean isn't even compelled anymore to hurt the little snot who caused this mess in the first place. 

Distracted as he'd been comforting Sam, Dean fails to notice the quietly approaching footfalls until Tim is pausing, hesitant, a couple feet from his brother. "Sam?" he says, seeming not entirely sure of himself. "You okay?"

Sam quickly wipes away the rest of his tears and nods, smiling a little bit more. "Uh-huh. I think so."

Tim smiles, too, and Dean is suddenly overwhelmed by how relieved he is for Sam to have at least one friend in this place. "Ian's really mean," he confides, apparently talking about the boy from before. "But it's okay, don' listen to him. I think De's real."

And that's all it takes to make Sam so happy he can't wipe the huge, silly smile off his face for the rest of the day, full of more block towers and tentative friendships. 

Dean wishes, for a moment, that it was something that could last.


	3. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It's the first time Dean encounters one of the monsters that his father hunts, but it's the last time one of them catches him off-guard._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being super long, wow. A friendly heads-up: the alternative title for this chapter is "shit gets serious", because, well. Shit gets serious. I hope you got your dose of fluff, because we're headed into more plotty territory now, and sometimes that can be really quite upsetting. Oh, general heads-up: this hasn't been edited by anyone but a half-asleep me, so any typos or the like are my own fault. So that's a thing. Anyways, enjoy. :D
> 
> (Covers Sam between the ages of five and seven years old.)

Neither Sam nor Dean really understand, really have the faintest idea about the true nature of John's profession until Sam's almost six years old and he's left alone in the motel room for the evening while his father works the case he's on. Like usual, Dean hasn't bothered to pay much attention to the snippets of conversation, the newspaper clippings and black-and-white printouts depicting monsters and symbols and strange, blackened handprints. He doesn't know what John's hunting, and doesn't really see a reason as to why he should care. 

It's late, and Sam's getting sleepy, already having crawled into bed in their motel of the week and curled up under the covers. He keeps blinking quickly, apparently struggling to keep his eyes open as he speaks to Dean softly. "And- and Daddy said we could go to the li'bry tommorow," he mumbles, obviously exhausted even with the tiny smile clear on his face. "N' I can get s'more books, whichever ones I want." Dean knows by now that John isn't actually supposed to keep the books he takes from the library, but since it makes Sam happy, it doesn't bother him much. "And then-" A huge yawn interrupts him mid-sentence, and it seems to take him a moment to remember what he wanted to say. Sam's voice is getting less distinct the longer he speaks. "When he's done work, we can... go to th'park." It's the last thing he says before he's out cold, breathing softly and curled up around a pillow mostly free of the usual dubious stains. 

Dean feels a rush of fondness for his brother, the way he looks so untroubled in his sleep. Their bond pulses strong and steady, and he decides that this is as good a time as any to test its limits a little. 

Careful not to let any especially strong feelings wash over him- it's the sort of thing that might wake Sam up when he'd really rather prefer his little brother to get his rest- Dean lets his presence start to drift a little, pretends like he's floating and starts to move away from Sam. He keeps him in sight as long as possible, but then without warning he's outside, and it's a little scary to be so far from his brother, his anchor in this world, but it's mostly exciting, liberating. He can feel their connection almost like a physical tether, keeping him from going too far away, but the restraint doesn't bother him. He's still outside, still exploring, and it feels incredible. 

Dean takes the time to explore the outside of the motel a little bit, inspecting the light-up sign, some of the other rooms (an endeavour he quickly abandons after finding some of the other residents in rather compromising positions that he'd prefer not to think about), even goes so far as taking a visit to the manager's office. It's all rather exciting, though he's careful not to go so far as to strain the connection, isn't keen on learning the consequences of such action. 

Distracted as he is by the wonder of exploring all on his own, it takes several seconds for Dean to register the energy change he's picking up from Sam. He can't feel his brother's emotions the way Sam can feel his, but there's a certain awareness that's there, some other sense that tells him about his brother's well-being- or in this case, as Dean is very quickly learning, the lack thereof. 

He's back in their room in an instant, back with Sam, but even then he doesn't know what he can possibly do. Hovering over his brother is a creature straight out of a nightmare, with shrouded features, a dark robe, and the smell of decay rolling off of it in waves. It's floating over the bed where Sam lays, still sleeping, apparently unaware of the thing leaning in close and opening the gaping hole in its face, something that only barely passes for a mouth. Before Dean can even process what's happening, the thing is inhaling, and something starts flowing- flowing out of Sam, into its mouth, something glowing and white and pure. Something that seems to correspond with the unnatural draining sensation he's picking up from his brother.

Before he can act, before he can even try and figure out what he can possibly do and maybe actually help Sam, the door is kicked in and their father is there and there's a shotgun in his hands, and then there's a gunshot and muzzle flare and the thing is gone, out the window in a billow of torn robes and Sam is awake and his eyes are wide and scared and tearing up as John gathers him up in his arms.

Dean watches the whole scene with a kind of quiet shock. The shame starts flooding in once he remembers how to feel it. He'd gotten distracted, had been so occupied amusing himself that he'd left Sam alone, exposed, and he'd almost gotten hurt. He notices, distantly, the way his brother's eyes widen a little further at all the self-loathing he's feeling, and berates himself for letting Sam experience it. He reins it in just as Sam starts sniffling, and is quick to relax, to let his little brother feel nothing but a soothing presence.

It's the first time Dean encounters one of the monsters that his father hunts, but it's the last time one of them catches him off-guard. 

\--

As great a hunter as John Winchester is, he tends to be rather unobservant when it comes to one thing. He never misses a detail at a crime scene, never fails to get the information he needs out of a witness, but when he's around his son, his only remaining family to the best of his knowledge, he always manages to disregard the little things- the way he scrunches his nose up when he's offered Spaghetti-o's instead of the healthier foods he's starting to prefer, the slowly growing collection of drawings and paintings that he stores in the little box from preschool, his habit of hugging a pillow tight to his chest when he sleeps because he misses sharing a bed with his father- but even more so, it's the big things that manage to go right over his head.

John goes six whole years without the slightest clue as to who Sam's imaginary friend De really is.

He ignores it when Sam seemingly talks to himself, decides that it's healthy for his son to have an imaginary friend at his age, maybe tries to convince himself that it makes up for all the moving around they do, the lack of real connections that Sam has had the chance to make. He doesn't hear the first time Sam uses Dean's full name, doesn't pay attention to all the ways that Dean has been responding with movements and mood shifts and any number of other tiny details that John's trained himself to look for on a hunt.

It's different, though, because this isn't a hunt. It's his son, and John sees no reason to pay special attention to all of these things.

It's not until one day, when Sam's six years old and feeling particularly persistent, that he learns anything about the whole situation at all.

-

As far as the life of a Winchester goes, it's a pretty normal day. A case is finished, John's done packing up the room, and Sam is, as usual, reluctant to leave. Dean's pretty sure that his brother is never going to get used to having to uproot his life every couple weeks, no matter how many times they do it. He's also pretty sure that he could write a script for the argument that happens, because it's always exactly the same. 

"But I like it here," Sam's pleading, eyes big and a little watery. At this point, Dean can't decide whether his brother is actually ready to cry or if it's just for show. Sam's been getting good at the latter, recently, so he can't know for certain. It's not even that he has a particular attachment to the town- it's like a dozen others they've been to, easy to forget, easy to blend in with the rest of America- it's just that Sam wants the stability, wants to be able to call one single place his home for a while. "And- and Katy said she'd share her carrot sticks wit' me tomorrow."

John sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers, and his voice is somewhere between regretful and exasperated when he speaks. "I'm sorry, kid, but we've got to head out. Bobby's got a job for me out in Montana, and we have to go. It's time-sensitive."

This doesn't seem to matter to Sam very much, because he just sniffles and tries to look defiant and sad all at the same time. Dean thinks it's pretty cute. "S'not just me," he says, and Dean knows this is the part where he gets pulled into the conversation, "Dean likes it here, too."

Dean hardly even registers the difference, the subtle line change from the script they've run through so many times in the past. If it wasn't for John suddenly going very still, he might not have noticed it at all. "Who likes it here, Sammy?" he asks very quietly, and it feels like there's something electric in the air, the physically perceptible charge before a storm rolls in. It sets Dean on edge, and he instinctively braces himself, not entirely sure what he's readying for.

"Dean does," Sam replies, matter-of-fact, and it's then that Dean notices the difference properly; before this moment, Sam has never once used his full name when speaking directly to their father. Neither of them apparently understand the significance of it, because John's gone almost white, every muscle in his body locked. Sam's starting to worry, steps forward a tiny bit to try and get a better look. "Daddy?" he asks softly, confusion in his voice. 

"Where did you hear that name?" John's voice is deadly quiet, the faintest tremble in it that Dean tells himself he must've imagined. He's never seen their father like this, doesn't understand why his name has brought out such a strong reaction in the man, but it's rapidly becoming apparent that it isn't a positive one. John steps forward, and he seems to be shaking very slightly. "You- you shouldn't know that name, Sam."

Sam's very quickly shifting from confused to scared, obviously picking up on the mounting tension in the room. His eyes are a little wide, and he stumbles back a step. "What's wrong?" he asks, voice watery. Dean's panicking a little, tries to wrap Sam up in whatever positive feelings he can conjure up at the moment, but it's obvious their energy is too little to take effect, or else they're nullified by everything else that's going on in his mind. 

"Get out of him." John's voice is dangerous, something in it that Dean has never heard before, that he doesn't want to try to identify. "Get the fuck out of him right now, you son of a bitch."

If Sam had been scared before, he's terrified now, eyes huge, trembling slightly as he stumbles back another couple feet before tripping, landing hard and letting out a soft whimper. "Daddy," he whispers, and his voice cracks. John doesn't seem to be affected, steel in his eyes as he steps forward, reaches into his coat and pulls out a flask.

Dean's seen enough of his brother's distress to decide he isn't going to wait to find out what John intends to do with it. 

There's a kind of rage rapidly building in his being, something he's never felt to quite this extent. It's a little like the feeling he gets when he sees his brother cry, when the kid from kindergarten had upset him, but magnified a hundred times. Their father isn't just upsetting Sam; he seems quite intent on hurting him. Dean isn't going to allow that to happen.

Before John can spit out whatever it is he intends to say next, Dean's already taking action, flings an empty bottle across the room where it smashes into a wall, shatters into a million tiny shards. Lights start flickering, the ratty curtains shudder in some unseen wind, and another bottle shatters in place, seemingly of its own accord. It all does as he'd intended; John's distracted, whips his head around to look, to take in the chaos of the tiny room for a moment. It's long enough, and Dean takes the opportunity to nudge Sam backwards, his brother's eyes wide, whispering a soft, confused "De?" as he's moved. Dean doesn't let it deter him, is already focused on their father again as John recovers from his lapse in focus. His eyes are on Sam, again, and he's taking a step forward, starting to speak.

_"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus-"_

And it isn't English, and Dean doesn't have the slightest clue as to what his father thinks he's doing, but it doesn't matter, because he needs to protect Sam and he can't process any other thoughts right now. Before John can continue, he's knocked down by a chair, slid across the floor with a screech of wood against wood and he huffs out the air in his chest, winded when he hits the ground. 

Dean doesn't stop, even as John swears and raises his arms to protect himself as a lamp flies at him, cord yanked out of its socket. It's only when he registers a quiet sob that he hesitates, turns his attention back to Sam.

His brother's curled up where Dean left him, knees pulled to his chest and rocking himself slightly, tears staining his cheeks. It takes a long moment to sort out what he's whispering to himself, the feelings coming off him in waves.

"Stop, stop it, De, please, don't hurt him, stop."

Sam is terrified. And this time, it's not directed at their father. It's directed at him.

The knowledge crushes something in Dean, and all at once, everything stops. The lights turn on, things stop moving, and the room is suddenly blanketed by a heavy silence. He can't even look as John stands slowly, looks around a moment before stepping towards Sam. He doesn't want to think about the way Sam immediately throws himself into his father's arms and starts sobbing in earnest. 

It's the first time that Sam is really, truly scared of Dean, the first time he wonders what Dean is and what, exactly, he's capable of. John is no longer under the impression that his son is possessed, but it doesn't ease his mind as much as he might've hoped. 

They leave town quickly after that, move onto the next case in the next tiny community and John's able to stop thinking about it. He manages to convince himself that they'd encountered some kind of rogue poltergeist, something vengeful and supernatural that he doesn't want to think too hard about. He starts to keep a closer eye on Sam, though, on the things that happen around him. 

Oddly enough, for several days after the incident, nothing does.

John isn't bothered by it, dismisses the whole thing as some kind of fluke for the moment, but Sam's worried and a little scared. He can't remember a time when Dean hasn't been there, constantly moving things for him and helping him throughout the day, little things he's never even really noticed until suddenly it's all gone. Even the emotional connection he's so used to seems different, has turned into a muddle of dark feelings that he's never experienced. It's different, it's scary, and he misses Dean beyond words. 

-

Dean's been keeping his distance for a couple of reasons. He doesn't want to tip John off to his presence more than he already has, he's worried about overreacting again, and above all else, he doesn't want to scare his baby brother. He's drowning in guilt, can't believe he'd let himself go so far as to try and hurt their father, hates himself for making Sam cry like he had. There's no undoing something like that, and he doesn't want to have to face it again. So he's been quiet, cut off the interaction he usually has with Sam, erased his presence from Sam's life as best he knows how. He still watches, of course, is still ready to step in whenever he may be needed, but there has yet to be a moment during which Sam really, truly needs him.

His resolve almost breaks several times. Whenever his brother reaches for something and it doesn't move towards him and his lower lip wobbles- it's obvious he's trying his very best not to cry- is like a knife twisting in his heart, but he manages to stay strong, to keep himself from interfering with Sam's life unnecessarily. After all, who's to say he's even really supposed to be there in the first place?

-

After a week of no contact, of staying in the same place because John's working on a case, Sam breaks down.

It isn't something big that sets him off, either. It's something simple- something he's had to do a hundred times without Dean's help in the past several days, but it seems like it's too much for him, has built up into something he can no longer contain.

Their father, as per usual, is out for the day, doing whatever it is he does in his day-to-day life as a hunter. It leaves Sam alone- alone as he ever gets, anyways- in the motel room, and he's sitting quietly, stacking up a number of books and things, ones that John's given him the okay to play with. It's not practical, given their lifestyle, for Sam to own many toys, so he makes do with what he has.

It's something he's always liked, building things like this, the blocks in the past and the books now. It's simple, but requires just enough concentration to need to furrow his brow, and sometimes his tongue pokes out between his lips while he works and Dean thinks it's endearing. Now, though, it's more heartbreaking than anything else, seeing Sam silently building up his little tower. It feels wrong, almost, without Sam's laughter, his smile. It only gets worse when he finishes.

Sam just looks at the tower for several long seconds, eyes unseeing, and then he swallows thickly. When he speaks, the words are so quiet that Dean almost misses them entirely.

"Down, De."

And it hurts so damn much, Dean thinks, but he doesn't do anything, just continues to watch silently as he has been while Sam's eyes well up with tears, while his brother looks down and rubs at his face angrily.

"What'd I do?" The words are a mumble, but come through loud and clear, pierce something in Dean's heart. "Why'd you go away, De?" And apparently, that's all Sam can take, because suddenly he's sobbing, curling in on himself as tears stream down his face and he hits the ground once, twice, then gives up. He looks defeated, and Dean hates himself for causing it. He can't stand it anymore, needs to let his brother know that this isn't his fault, but he still doesn't want to scare Sam. So he very slowly, very carefully picks up a book from the top of Sam's pile, sets it down.

But Sam doesn't notice. He's too far gone, eyes squeezed shut and his own whimpers flooding his ears. Dean is frustrated, but knows better now that to let it come through. Not with Sam.

It's as he's trying to figure out what he can possibly do to make this better that he hears the sound of a key in the door, and a moment later, John's letting himself in, eyes going wide as he spots Sam. He starts towards his son, mouth open to, presumably, ask what's wrong.

Dean feels something tugging at him, and he doesn't question it. He lets it take him, tries not to panic when he feels himself being pulled away from Sam, towards their father, and then-

Oh.

And then suddenly he's got a body, that of a full-grown man, and he's looking down at Sam curled up on the floor.

Dean doesn't waste time trying to think about the situation too hard or wonder how he's able to possess John like this- because that's exactly what this is; a possession- but instead opts to kneel down, the muscle memory from his father's brain moving him without struggle as he settles beside Sam. 

He reaches out for Sam, intent on bringing him in close for a hug, on trying to explain-

-but as soon as John's fingertips brush Sam's arm, Dean feels like he's been ejected, flung out of his father's body, and he's back to where he was before, watching the scene from whichever plane he exists on. 

Dean's thrown, to say the least, doesn't notice John's moment of confusion or whatever words are exchanged between him and Sam. It's something he's never done before, and he doesn't yet understand the boundaries of this new ability, but he definitely intends to find out.

-

Later that night, when John's asleep and Sam's curled up tight around a pillow, still sniffling occasionally, Dean decides that they've both suffered enough. Staying away isn't doing anyone any good, and he knows for sure that both he and his brother were happier with their previous arrangement. 

Well aware that Sam is still awake, Dean takes a moment to consider before tugging at the blanket, pulling it up and over his brother's shoulders to tuck him in properly. Sam's eyes fly open wide, and they dart around for a moment before calming, before they start watering again. He's smiling though, and he whispers "I missed you," before finally managing to drift off to sleep.

Even if Dean doesn't want to hurt Sam, doesn't want to scare him, he knows now that staying away really just isn't an option. Not for them.

\--

It isn't long after Dean's outburst that he happens to overhear a certain phone conversation. John waits until Sam is fast asleep, curled up comfortably around his pillow like always before quietly leaving the room. Curious about what his father intends to do outside the room in the middle of the night between hunts, Dean follows, is careful to keep most of his focus on his brother even as he drifts out of sight.

John seems impatient, even anxious as he holds the phone to his ear, pacing as he waits for it to be picked up. He stills suddenly, breathes a sigh that almost sounds relieved. "Bobby. Thank god, I thought you might've been asleep." A pause, and John snorts. "Right, yeah. Thanks for getting up, then. Anyway, I think I've got somethin' for you to check out..."

And then John goes on to describe everything that's happened in the past few days. Sam using his full name, John flipping out- Dean can't help but notice the way he glosses over the details, downplays his own reaction- and the chaos that had erupted afterwards, the way it'd suddenly stopped. He talks about Sam's breakdown, his own brief blackout, and the way that Sam's suddenly calmed down. Dean gets the sense that Bobby can't get a word in edgewise as John rambles on, gesticulates aggressively with his free hand. It's obvious that he's frustrated, and by the time he finishes, he seems exhausted, leans heavily into the brick wall that makes up the outside of the motel.

"I don't know what's going on. He just- he shouldn't know about it, Bobby. I've never-" He's cut off, suddenly, presses his lips into a thin line in a way that Dean takes to mean his father is angry. "He's not your kid, Singer. Don't act like you have the right to just-" He makes a low, frustrated sound, banging his head lightly against the wall. "The point is that there's somethin' happening, and who knows how long it's been going on-"

And then John's face turns an interesting shade of red, his jaw tightens, and he pushes off of the wall in favour of pacing again, his steps quick and aggressive. "How long?" Whatever answer Bobby gives, it only serves to anger John further, and Dean's startled when the man spins to punch the wall behind him, apparently unfazed by the blood smeared on his knuckles when he pulls his hand back. "All this time, you fucking knew? You knew, you knew Sam was in danger, and- yes, he _is_ in danger! You didn't see what that thing did, Bobby, tore the fucking room apart-"

That's as much as Dean can bear to listen to, and he lets himself be pulled back, returns to his brother's side where he belongs. Sam's asleep, snoring very softly, blissfully unaware of the conversation going on outside. Whatever might happen between Bobby and their father, at least he has this- hovering by Sam, watching him, protecting him, loving him.

Right now, it's enough.

\--

John starts making excuses about why they can't go to Bobby's house. Dean never hears it stated explicitly, but he gets the feeling that it has something to do with the conversation they'd had over the phone. He's almost sure that their father is mad at Bobby, though he can't imagine why.

Whatever issues John might be having with his first-choice contacts, he still has a son to take care of, a six-year-old who's got no place on a hunt, and it's obvious that he'd rather leave Sam with someone he trusts than a complete stranger.

It's this need that brings the Winchesters to a bar in Nebraska, a place John just refers to as the Roadhouse whenever Sam asks. Dean doesn't really get why they're going there, not until they actually arrive and head inside. 

It's early afternoon when they enter the building, Sam sticking close behind John as they walk, but not holding onto him. He looks around in obvious wonder, eyes wide as he takes in the atmosphere of the place, the few customers scattered around. It doesn't take Dean long to decide they're probably hunters, judging by their attire and the fact that they seem to be armed more often than not. He realizes that it's probably why John's brought them here; where safer to hide from monsters than a hunter sanctuary? It's an ideal place to leave Sam, in theory. 

However, the glances directed their way have Dean feeling uneasy, and he watches as it affects Sam, and prompting him to step in closer to John. It's not until their father reaches the bar, rests his forearms on it and leans into the counter to attract the attention of the woman behind it that Dean wonders if maybe it'll be okay to stick around, after all.

The woman glances over, smooth auburn hair and a motherly feel to her, though there's something steely in her eyes that Dean suspects is probably necessary for anyone who has to interact with hunters on a daily basis. Her eyebrows rise a little when she spots John, but then she's smiling and moving towards him, leaning against the counter across from him. "John Winchester," she greets, an accent thickening her voice as she smiles at him. "Been an awful long time since you've been 'round here." She looks down then, smile softening when she notices Sam, shuffling his feet shyly as he stands by his father. "And this must be Sam, right?"

John nods before Sam can respond for himself, leans down to scoop his son up in his arms. "Yeah. Sam, this is Ellen Harvelle. She owns the joint. Has a kid 'bout your age, too, buddy."

Ellen nods, glances seemingly reflexively towards a door along the back wall, presumably leading to private rooms. "Yeah, a little girl, just a couple years younger'n you. Name's Joanna Beth, but she gets real cranky if you don't call her Jo."

Dean's happy to see how excited Sam seems to get at the prospect of a new friend, smiles and wiggles a bit in John's hold. "Can I meet her?" he asks, a little bit of hesitance in his voice like he isn't sure he's allowed to request it. Dean thinks it's endearing, and Ellen apparently agrees, because she's nodding without hesitation and giving him a reassuring smile. 

"'Course you can," she assures him, gestures for John to follow her. She nudges a young man as they pass him, jerks her chin towards the bar and he nods at her, heading over to, presumably, cover her while she's gone. Ellen leads the way to the back room she'd indicated, produces a key and lets herself in before waving John in behind her. 

The room isn't especially large, but it looks lived-in, worn couches and bookshelves and a tiny blonde girl, curled up on the floor playing with a rubber ball. She looks up as they come in, brow furrowed in suspicion when she spots John and Sam. "Who're they?" she demands, pushing herself to her feet and putting her hands on her hips. Dean decides immediately that he likes her, and Sam seems curious, if nothing else.

John sets Sam down as Ellen introduces them. "Jo, honey, this is John Winchester, and his boy, Sam. Sam's gon' be staying with us a few days, so you best learn to play nice with him."

Jo still seems a little wary- the look is directed at John, and Dean can't really blame her, knows how obviously his father is a hunter with the scruff and the heavy leather jacket and the barely-hidden gun he's carrying- but nods, turns her attention to Sam. She marches over and offers her hand, puffs out her chest. "I'm Jo. I'll show you around n'stuff."

Sam manages to offer her a smile, shakes her hand with only a moment's hesitation. "I'm Sam," he replies. "S'nice to meet you, Jo."

As soon as her attention is focused entirely on Sam, Jo seems to ease up, offering him little smiles and childish conversation as she leads his around the back rooms, pointing out interesting things at random. It isn't so much a tour as it is a mobile play-date, but, Dean doesn't see anything wrong with that. John and Ellen talk a little while longer, and it sounds almost like she’s reprimanding him somehow, but the words are hard to make out and soon enough, he’s gone, leaving Sam with the Harvelles. 

-

It isn't long after John’s left that Ellen comes to find the two children again, a fond smile growing on her face when she walks in on them playing some elaborate form of tag. Jo's in the middle of trying to teach Sam to do a proper somersault when she interrupts, though only briefly, asks Sam if he knows Bobby Singer. He lights up and she seems to take that as enough of an answer, turns back towards the main bar where Dean realizes she’s put the phone down. He doesn't have much more time to question the whole thing before he’s sucked back into watching his brother play, a blissful smile on the boy's face. 

-

Several hours later, after Sam's mastered the somersault and everyone's eaten and the lunch crowd has more or less cleared from the Roadhouse, Ellen comes to find Sam and Jo again, a smile on her face as she addresses Sam. "You've got a visitor, Sam," is the warning he gets before Bobby enters the room after her, and he barely has time to nod at the two children before Sam's launching himself at him, wraps skinny arms tight around the man's waist and hangs there for a moment as Bobby laughs and hoists him up properly. 

"Yeah, I missed you, too, buddy," he says, and Sam's happy, and Dean's happy, and it only gets better when he continues, asks "so how's Dean doin'?" and it doesn't even bother him when the two Harvelles exchange a confused look, Ellen's lined with concern. 

"Bobby," she says slowly, looks like she doesn't want to be having this conversation, but continues regardless, "when you say Dean-"

"I'll explain later," he cuts her off, gives her a meaningful look that confuses Dean a little bit. She still seems curious, but nods, albeit a little reluctantly. "Sam, why don't you tell Ellen and Jo about Dean?"

Sam perks up at the opportunity, and frankly, Dean's a little surprised that he hasn't come up yet in the time they've been here, but he waits quietly while his brother speaks. Just like always, it starts off with "he's my best friend," and just like always, it makes him happy to hear. "An' you can't see him, but he's here, right now, and sometimes he moves stuff-" And at that point, Ellen shoots a look full of alarm at Bobby, but he waves her off, gestures for her to continue listening- "and he takes care of me n' stuff, and he's the best." He finishes there, and Ellen doesn't look much reassured, but Jo's eyes are wide with wonder.

"He can move stuff?" she asks, awe clear in her voice as she looks around, apparently expecting Dean to materialize before her. "I wanna see!"

Sam's still in Bobby's arms, but he waves his own around insistently until he's set down. "De, can you show her?" he asks, such a genuine, polite request that Dean wouldn't have been able to refuse his brother even if he wanted to. He finds the ball that Jo was playing with earlier, lifts it and brings it to her, sets it in her now-outstretched palms gently. 

Jo's eyes are wide, and she looks towards Sam with something akin to reverence in her gaze. "It moved," she whispers, looking down at the ball like she can't quite bring herself to believe it. "Did- did Dean do that?"

Sam nods, a shy smile on his face, and he starts to tell her more about Dean, about the things he does. Dean's attention, though, is focused on the adults in the room, on the concern obvious in Ellen's face as she looks between Sam and her daughter. Bobby grabs her attention a moment later, though, sets a hand on her shoulder and gestures for her to follow him. She does, and Dean allows himself to drift after them, keeping some sense of where his brother is, what he's doing as he talks with Jo.

Bobby leads Ellen out of the room, into another, smaller one, with a bed and a dresser and not a whole lot else. There's agitation in the way Ellen moves, runs her fingers through her hair. "What the hell was that?" she asks as soon as the door's closed behind them, voice pitched low so it doesn't carry to the next room. 

Bobby raises his hands in front of himself defensively. "I know what you're thinking, but I've done the tests," he replies just as quiet. Dean isn't sure what he's talking about, but it's Bobby, so he doesn't see a reason to be concerned. "I can't explain it, but- you know about John's family, right? About Mary. And-"

"And Dean," she cuts him off. "Yeah, I know. I also know that there ain't no such thing as coincidence in this business, Bobby. So when he says Dean-"

"He means Dean," Bobby agrees with a sigh, scrubs a hand over his face. "I don't get it. Weren't no salt lines or nothin' that even slowed him down. I don't know what he is, exactly, but..." He shrugs, then. "He's not malicious. He's not once made a move to hurt Sam. The one time he lashed out was at John, and god knows the man was askin' for it." He shakes his head, and Dean calms a little bit when he realizes that Bobby knows about what he'd done and, apparently, doesn't blame him for it. 

Ellen still seems worried, glances towards the door separating her from her daughter. "Alright, fine, he plays nice with Sam. Great. Is he gonna hurt my little girl?" And Dean understands, then, why she's so wary; she's looking out for Jo, is worried that he might pose a threat. He feels like maybe it should offend him, but all he feels is a sense of warmth and respect for the woman. 

Bobby shakes his head without hesitation. "Not a chance. Only reason he went after John in the first place was 'cause he was scaring the livin' hell out of Sam. Thought he was possessed or somethin'." He sighs, rubs at the bridge of his nose. "Hell, I might've gone at 'im if I was there. He was just protecting his brother."

Ellen nods slowly, seems to relax a little bit. "Right. S'long as he's not gon' hurt anybody," she replies. She glances around, then, and Dean gets the sense that she's looking for him, somehow. "You figure he can hear us right now?"

Bobby snorts, an amused sound. "I'd be surprised if he wasn't listenin' in, actually." He pauses a moment, glances towards the door before looking up at some ambiguous point on the ceiling. "How 'bout it, Dean? You there?"

Dean responds by ruffling the sheets on the bed, having them lift up and drop again briefly. Ellen seems mildly startled, but huffs out a short laugh. "Guess so. Well, guess you heard it already, but let me reiterate: I'm fine with you hangin' around, sticking close to Sam, whatever. But you lay a weird, ghosty finger on my baby girl, and we're gonna have a big problem. S'that clear?"

He ruffles the sheets again, hopes it's obvious that he's agreeing. He can't help but be impressed by how straightforward she is, respects how obviously protective she is of her daughter. It reminds him a little of how he treats Sam. 

She nods, apparently satisfied, and Bobby smiles a little. "There, happy? He's a good kid, Ellen. Just wants to keep Sam safe."

Ellen nods again, turns back to the door. "And I've got no problem with that, s'long as he behaves himself. Just the same as any other kid." She opens the door, then, heads back into the main room with Bobby following behind her, chuckling to himself. 

They find Sam and Jo in the middle of a conversation about- surprise, surprise- Dean. He's faintly amused when Jo declares, rather insistently, that "I wanna be friends with him, too!"

Sam pouts, crosses his arms across his chest. "But- but I'm the only one who can talk t'im," he protests. It takes a long moment for Dean to identify his tone of voice, and is a little astounded that his brother sounds _jealous._ It's more than a little amusing, and apparently Sam picks up on that, because a moment later he's biting back a smile. 

Jo pouts, too, matches his posture. "You can't hog 'im," she replies, matter-of-fact. Ellen apparently chooses this moment to step in, heads over and scoops Jo up into her arms.

"Jo, honey, you can't see Dean," she points out gently. "And he don't really have a way to talk to you, anyway. Sam's the one he's here for, so you might not be able to be friends with him like you want to be." She pauses, then, glances at Sam before continuing. "But maybe if you ask real nice, he can play with you and Sam while they're here. Sound okay?"

Jo's still pouting, still looks upset, so Dean takes the initiative to pick up her ball again, brings it over to her and lets it hover in front of her for a moment before dropping it. She smiles, then, lets out a little giggle. The matter seems settled, and Ellen smiles, too, sets her down again. "Good. Now you kids go off and play. I'm gonna get Bobby here settled down."

As the two adults head out and Sam and Jo start playing again, Dean can't help but notice the self-satisfied little smile on his brother's face. It's endearing, how possessive Sam seems to be of him, and he really doesn't see a reason to discourage it. For now, it's easy to set aside, to join in with the game and watch the two of them laugh together, happy that Sam's able to make a friend his own age- hopefully, this time, one he'll be able to keep.

\--

They're in Wisconsin for Sam's seventh birthday, but John manages to be away for the big day, needs to talk to some doctor about the details of a particular victim's death, only shows up late at night with a pizza and a lot of apologies. Sam's been enrolled in school for the time being, has started first grade, and will stay in his class for a few days yet, according to their father. Though he tries to hide it, Sam's still upset, still wishes that John could have maybe, for once, picked him over the job. He manages to keep it to himself, though, confine his upset to a couple sniffles and the way he won't quite look John in the eye. It doesn't really come out, not until he's at school one day. Not until he's provoked.

It wouldn't have been a big deal in any other context, the kid who decides to snatch the same block Sam's reaching for, but after the stress of waiting up late for his father, the disappointment of getting ready to leave yet another town, it's too much for him. He stands abruptly, glaring at the kid- who looks a little thrown, makes no move to correct his mistake- and wipes angrily at his eyes, takes a shaky breath. "Give it back." His voice is quiet, and the tone worries Dean, makes him think that maybe he should've been a little more proactive about preventing this.

The boy, apparently oblivious to the seriousness of Sam's mood, just gives him an odd look. "There's more there," he replies dismissively, gestures towards the bag of blocks behind Sam. Dean wishes that could be the end of it, but Sam's done, fed up with everything he's gone through over the past couple days, and it isn't enough.

"I wanted that one." And Sam sounds so damn close to crying, his voice breaking on the last word, and Dean can't stand it any more, can't bear to see his brother like this. He doesn't think, just grabs the block and yanks it straight out of the kid's hand, sets it down gently next to Sam.

He doesn't even care how shocked the kid looks, all his attention zeroed in on his brother, the way Sam's face has softened a little. He sniffles again, but there's a tiny smile on his face as he crouches down, picks up the block. "Thanks, De," he whispers, voice thick. 

Meanwhile, the kid's run off, whining to the teacher, and Dean isn't paying enough attention, doesn't notice the sharp glance she throws Sam's way as he starts to play again, smiling softly to himself. He doesn't notice when she steps out of the room to make a quick phone call, nor the way she seems to keep a close eye on Sam for the rest of the day, takes notes on everything he does.

Dean doesn't realize until later how critical the events of that afternoon- the things he does for Sam, the things Sam doesn't do for himself- turn out to be. 

-

It isn't until two days later that Sam's kept late after school, that their father is asked to come in and speak with his teacher. On the surface, it's a typical parent-teacher conference, but there's something about the way the teacher looks at his brother that sets Dean on edge, has his on guard from the moment she opens her mouth.

"Thank you for agreeing to come in, Mr. Winchester," she starts, and Dean doesn't even know her name, but he already hates her. Sam shifts around in his seat, feet dangling several inches above the ground, his discomfort palpable, but neither of the adults seem bothered. "My name is Lindsey North, and I'm Sam's homeroom teacher. I don't think we've had the pleasure of meeting."

John doesn't look all that happy to be where he is, but he reaches out to shake her hand all the same. "No, I'm working most of the time. And please, call me John."

Lindsey smiles, and it sends a chill through Dean, echoed in Sam in the way he pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms tight around them. Dean tries his best to comfort his brother, but it's hard when he's so thrown by the woman's chilly demeanour. "I'm sure you're wondering why I've asked to meet with you," she continues, steeples her fingers where they sit on the heavy wooden desk in front of her. 

John just nods, glances at his watch almost irritably. "Yeah. It would've been nice to have some more notice." He doesn't seem bothered about whether or not he's coming off as rude, and Dean can't help but be a tiny bit amused by the way it makes Lindsey's lips press into a thin line. "Can we just cut to the chase? I've got work to do."

She doesn't seem pleased to be rushed, but nods. "Of course. I've noticed, during the time Sam's been in my class, that he's... special. Gifted, in a way."

John snorts, glances at his son, occupied by fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "Yeah, he's a smart kid. Known that for years. What's the big deal?"

Lindsey smiles, again, a look in her eyes that Dean feels compelled to describe as predatory. "That isn't what I mean. Sam is very bright, but it's something else that's caught my attention. Your son seems to have certain... abilities."

That's enough to catch John's attention, apparently, because the irritation drops from his face to be replaced with a wary curiosity. "What... what kind of abilities?" he asks, hesitance obvious in his voice. Dean wants to stop him, wants to stop this meeting and go home and spend the evening keeping his brother happy, but there's nothing he can do short of physically causing a disturbance, and he doesn't want to scare Sam, doesn't want to give Lindsey anything else to write on her little notepad.

"I'm not sure yet." She sits up straight, haughty and confident, bordering on arrogant. "But I've seen things. I think your son may be one of a rare few individuals with ESP, possibly telekinetic abilities. I'd like to take him to a nearby facility, have some tests done. Try to determine the extent of his powers."

John seems to be caught in a state of disbelief as she speaks, blinking slowly. It gives Dean confidence, assures him that their father would never allow something like this to happen to Sam- "How long would he be gone?" And suddenly the confidence is shattered, in pieces on the tiled floor, because John has a look of cautious acceptance, of resignation about him. A look that says he isn't willing to deal with this on his own anymore. A look that tells Dean his single slip-up, letting their father know about his existence, had been the biggest mistake he's made yet in his life. 

Lindsey seems to relax at John's response, settles back in her chair and smiles again. "That depends on what we find," she replies smoothly. "But at least a week. Probably more, if what I've seen proves to be correct."

John sighs, rubs at the bridge of his nose. Dean wishes he could speak, yell, scream at his father, demand how he's even considering the possibility of doing this to Sam. The decision's been made, though; he can see it in John's eyes. "Where do I sign?" he asks quietly, glances over at Sam. Sam's eyes have gone wide, some cocktail of hurt and betrayal mixed into the hazel. 

The next several minutes are a blur, a mess of paperwork and waivers and signatures that Dean doesn't care to pay attention to, too caught up in trying to keep his baby brother calm. In Sam's eyes, he's being given away, given up, for reasons he can't really begin to comprehend, can't even try to understand. Dean can't blame him; he can't imagine any reason that would justify doing to anyone what John is doing to Sam.

Soon enough, Lindsey and John are shaking hands, and there's some exchange about picking Sam up first thing tomorrow, and then they're leaving and Sam's trying not to cry and their father won't even look at him. Dean wishes, for a moment, that his brother wasn't the only one he could project his feelings to. He wants John to know how he feels about this, how angry he is, how disappointed. He doesn't even really get what's going on, just knows that their father is sending Sam away to strangers who want to do tests on him. He can't imagine it's going to result in anything good.

-

As promised, people come by the motel to collect Sam bright and early the next morning. John's got his son's bag packed, gives it to one of the people to put in the truck while he says goodbye.

He crouches down, looks at Sam in front of him with sad, tired, eyes. "They just want to find out what's wrong, Sam," he says softly, trying to explain, his voice asking for forgiveness. 

Apparently, Sam isn't in the mood. 

He doesn't look up, eyes fixed on his shoes as he sniffles quietly. "Nothing's wrong," he whispers, voice surprisingly firm. "They're wrong, they- they don't get it. S'just Dean. M'not doin' anything."

John's lips press into a thin line, and he sighs, stands up again. "They'll figure it out," he muttered, sounding like he was trying to convince himself just as much as he was trying to convince Sam. "It's- it's got to be something."

Sam doesn't grace him with a response, just takes a slow, shaky breath and turns for the door. "At least you'll still be with me." The words are so quiet that Dean's almost sure John can't have heard them. It's a good thing, too, he thinks, because it's obvious who they're really meant for. 

-

The drive lasts less than an hour, and Sam spends most of it sitting silently, occasionally saying something quietly to Dean, makes sure that no one else hears him. The kinds of people in the truck with him seem like the type to whip out little notepads and start writing frantically if he so much as moves too quickly, and Dean's proud that his brother seems to recognize this. It takes a lot of concentration not to try to amuse him, to do the sorts of things he usually does when Sam is upset. He has to settle for sending Sam every positive feeling he can conjure, tries to project optimism and courage when really, he's just as scared as his brother, doesn't know what's going to happen when they get wherever they're headed.

Eventually, though, it seems like they're going to find out, because they're pulling up outside a building that looks a little bit like a hospital, with a manicured lawn and a couple floors and Sam doesn't seem to know what to think as they park, as he's ushered out of the truck and into the building, led through a dizzying set of hallways until he's introduced to a room that's his temporary bedroom, according to the lady who'd taken him there. He's left by himself, then, to 'settle in', as if there's anything a seven-year-old with a ratty duffle can do to make a place like this his home.

Once the door closes, Sam lets his brave face drop, crawling into the starched sheets of the bed, curling up as tight as he can and lets out a shuddering breath, tears welling up in his eyes before he squeezes them shut. He opens his mouth, just barely managing to choke out the first half of his brother's name before he's breaking down, soft sobs escaping him as he buries himself in blankets, does his best to hide from the world.

Dean feels his heart break, some mixture of sadness for his brother and anger on his brother's behalf swirling through him. He manages to focus on the former, for the moment, takes the opportunity to gently tuck the blankets tight around Sam, does everything he can to surround him with love and safety. 

It doesn't stop the tears, but Sam quiets, swallows thickly. "Love you, De," he whispers. It's the last thing he says before drifting into an uneasy sleep, curled tight around his pillow and letting out soft whimpers. Dean can't do anything but watch and pray that this is all over soon.

-

It gets worse when Sam wakes up.

Before he's even properly blinked his eyes open, only having managed a couple hours of rest, he's being rushed off to what a couple doctors call _preliminary testing_ , and Dean doesn't really understand what it might entail until there are tiny hammers and inflatable arm cuffs and more needles than he's ever seen in one place, and Sam is so scared he's physically trembling. It seems like a normal visit to the doctor's office until they take a couple blood samples, until they attach little electrodes to Sam's head and neither of them understand what's going on, but people are asking Sam questions he doesn't know the answers to.

Eventually, a man sits down in front of Sam, straddles a chair like he's trying to look casual, offers him a smile. "Hey, Sam," he greets, leaning his arms on the back of the chair to get closer. Sam's eyes are wide and terrified, and the things are still stuck to his temples and forehead and chest, and Dean wishes someone would just take them off, already, because what was the point of even having them on? "I'm Dr. Peters. Lindsey tells me you were referred here because of some... abilities you displayed in her class. Is this true?"

Sam shakes his head adamantly, and Dean can't find it in himself to blame his brother for being so insistent. Sam isn't the only one who wants to leave. "I didn't do anything," he insists. "Dean did it. He was just gettin' the block for me, 'cause that other kid took it."

If the doctor had look interested before, he's rapt now, leaning forward, something excited in his eyes. "Dean?" he asks tilting his head a bit. "Who's Dean?"

Sam almost seems exasperated, he's answered this question so many times. "He's my friend. He does stuff." The response is short and curt, and Sam crosses his arms across his chest. "I wanna go home."

Apparently, Dr. Peters chooses to ignore that part of Sam's response. "Can you see Dean? Or is he just in your head?"

"He's not 'maginary." It's the first thing out of Sam's mouth, unwavering. "Other people can't see 'im. But I know how he looks."

It's something Dean's never heard explicitly before, but has suspected all the same; what with how often his brother draws him, he'd decided a long while ago that Sam had to have some idea of what he looked like, some image in his mind. 

The little meeting doesn't last long after that before the doctor is hurrying off to his colleagues, speaking in hushed tones. Dean gets close enough to catch snippets of conversation, hears 'DID' thrown around a lot, doesn't have the slightest clue about what it means. He returns to his brother quickly, notes the way Sam's started to shake again. He looks miserable, and Dean decides that he's going to do what little he can to correct that. 

One by one, he gently tugs the electrodes off of Sam's skin, watches as his brother smiles weakly with each one that falls. Soon enough, they've all been removed, are now dangling from their thin little wires, attached to some machine off to the side. 

Dean almost doesn't notice that the doctors have gone quiet, and then suddenly one of them is hurrying over to the machine, eyes darting over a printout before frowning a little bit. "Nothing," he breathes, glancing over at the others. "No spikes of activity anywhere. Did he remove them himself?"

Dr. Peters shakes his head. "No, those came off by themselves. Odd." 

It launches a heated discussion, and soon Sam's being carted off to his room again with a promise of more tests to come later. The door's closed on him, and he just stares at it for a long moment before turning slowly, returning to bed and curling up, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. He seems drained, physically and mentally. It's only just the beginning.

-

The next several days pass in much the same way. Sam is put on a rather strict schedule, with three bland meals a day, the time between passed with a number of tests and evaluations. He's had enough needles now, mostly taking small blood samples, that he hasn't passed a single day without a brightly-coloured bandaid on one, if not both, of his arms. The tests vary, everything from physical competence- which Sam's isn't the best with, at seven years old, and being generally small for his age- to mental evaluations, testing his academic skills. They're the ones that Sam excels in, knows how to deal with. It's only when the doctors ask him to talk about Dean, to show them what he can do, that he falters.

Meanwhile, Dean's patience is very quickly running very low.

It starts as small things. A glass needle explodes, a pen flies off a desk. As the days go by, though, as the tests continue and their father doesn't come by to rescue Sam, he gets angrier, more easily agitated, the incidents become harder to write off. Books flung out of doctor's hands, machines that short-circuit; it's impossible to deny that something's going on, that whatever it is is affected by Sam's mood.

Every time something happens, the doctors seem equal parts excited and confused as they hunch over their computer screens, squint at data as it's printed out. Every time something happens, they seem compelled to try to explain it.

It takes several days for Dean to come to the understanding that for every time he lashes out, another test is done on his brother, another day of his childhood is wasted away in this place. As soon as he does, though, as soon as he realizes what he can do to help...

Sam's been in the facility for twelve days when everything stops.

The doctors are baffled, don't understand why nothing moves of its own accord, why Sam's seemingly massive psychic power has suddenly quieted itself. Regardless of the tests they run, the way they treat Sam, nothing happens, he doesn't lash out.

Though Sam doesn't as openly express it, he's equally as confused. It reminds him too much of when Dean had shut down their communication, but it only takes one confused "Dean?" when he's alone in his room before a wave of reassurance washes over him, a feeling that says _trust me._

Sam does. 

-

"I don't know how to explain it," Dr. Peters is saying, and Dean is more than a little pleased with himself. After a couple days of absolutely nothing, no signs of anything abnormal from his brother, the doctors seem to have given up, have gone so far as to call John to talk to him about it. "Things were happening, moving around him, but then it all just... stopped." He sighs, obviously frustrated.

"To be fair," one of the others pipes up, a young woman who hasn't done anything too horrible to Sam yet, "even when things were happening, nothing extra was happening in Sam's brain. There weren't any especially high levels of activity, just... the usual."

"So it's not him." John isn't a rocket scientist, but he's sharp enough to follow this conversation. "What you're saying is you've got nothing to prove he's the one causing the things to move, or whatever the hell else is happening."

The doctors glance at each other a little helplessly, then Dr. Peters looks at John again, nods. "That's how it seems, yes."

It's their father's turn to sigh, and Dean hopes as hard as he can, wants his father to say- "then there's no reason for Sam to stay here." And the stars align and John actually does what Dean wants, for once. "I'm taking him with me, we're done here."

There's a brief argument, about how maybe they've been looking for the wrong signals, but a dark look from John silences the doctors, and within the hour, they're on the road again, air heavy in the space between father and son.

John doesn't offer an apology. "I've got one more thing we can try, kid. See what's goin' on with you."

Sam doesn't try to argue. He's exhausted, and relieved, and Dean can't blame him. "Nothing's goin' on," he mumbles, letting his eyes slip shut as he leans heavily into the car's door. "S'just... Dean." He's asleep within moments, so he doesn't see the way John glances away, needs a moment to collect himself before focusing on the road again.

Dean sees it, but he isn't sure what to make of it. Besides, he's more focused on whatever solution their father seems to think he's come up with. 

\--

From Wisconsin, John drives twelve hours straight through, doesn't stop, just heads southwest with a grim determination about him. Sam sleeps on and off throughout the trip, and his sleepy inquiries about where they're headed are brushed off or disregarded completely. It isn't until they roll into town, pass a vaguely familiar sign that Dean realizes where they are.

 _Welcome to Lawrence_ passes by in a flash, and Dean barely has time to process it before he remembers. This is where they lived, where their home was. Where the fire happened. Where he died.

He doesn't understand what they could possibly be doing here, what John wants with the place, and isn't enlightened any when they pull into a nondescript driveway in the suburbs of the town. John gets out, moves to scoop Sam straight up out of the backseat, and he's reaching out to knock on the front door before his son has properly blinked his eyes open. 

Before his knuckles can make contact with wood, the door swings open, and a short, stocky black woman answers the door, doesn't look surprised to see John there with his fist still raised to knock. "Took you long enough to get here," she says, already moving back into her house and leaving the door open, a clear invitation to be followed. John doesn't seem bothered, but Dean's thrown by her demeanour, the fact that she has, apparently, been expecting them.

They're led into a sitting room, delicate-looking furniture and tea already set out for two. The woman gestures for John to take a seat, and he does, sets Sam down beside him. He's still waking up, blinking slowly and seemingly trying to make sense of his surroundings. His brow furrows a bit when he spots the woman. "Who're you?" he mumbles, rubbing at his eyes. "Anot'er doctor?"

She smiles softly, sits down across from them. "My, my, it's been a while since I've seen you, Sam," she says, and Dean's mildly alarmed that she knows his brother's name. "You must've been only half as big as you are now. I'm Missouri, a friend of your dad's." She turns her attention to John, then, smile not quite as kind. "What's brought you here, John? Can't imagine it's a social visit."

"I've run out of options." John's straight to the point, though to be fair, Dean can't remember his father ever being anything but. "Sam, he's got this... thing. Around him. Things move, things happen, and-"

"It's Dean!" Sam cuts him off, fully awake now and glaring at his father. "M'not doin' anything, s'just Dean. He's doin' it. Takes care of me n' stuff."

Missouri has a faintly amused look about her. "Took you long enough to notice," she says to John, then looks at Sam again. "Takes real good care of you, doesn't he? Dean, that is."

Sam smiles, then, the first real smile Dean's seen on his brother's face in probably two weeks, and it's a relief. He nods enthusiastically. "Uh-huh. He's the best."

John looks baffled, almost offended. "You can't seriously believe-"

"You wanted answers, you're getting them." Her smile is gone completely when she looks at John again, eyes almost dangerous. "Don't matter if you like it or not, John, that boy's still here, and he's takin' care of his brother the way you ought to be. So if you're worried about Sam's well-being, don't be." She looks at Sam again, then away, off into the air, and Dean gets the unsettling feeling that she's looking directly at him. "Your boy's in good hands, John. You don't need to worry about him." She sits up straight, then, fixes John with a piercing gaze. "What you need to do is tell him the truth. The whole story, before it blows up in your face."

Sam's confused, John's uncomfortable, Dean understands. Their father sighs, rubs the bridge of his nose. "Fine," he mutters. "I'll tell him. Tonight."

Missouri smiles for real then, settles back in her chair with a self-satisfied look. "Good. I'm counting on that."

As John stands to leave, gently pulls Sam along with him, Missouri seems to look straight at Dean again, offers him a smile. "You keep that boy safe," she says quietly, and he realizes that the words are meant solely for him. "I know you will, just- make sure of it. He's got big things ahead of him."

Dean somehow gets the sense that she feels his agreement, because she's smiling again as she walks them out, makes John promise to visit more often. They all know he's lying, but it doesn't matter. Not with the conversation, the explanation building in John's mind as they head for the motel.

-

John's stalling. It's obvious in the way he fidgets, something he never does, takes his time salting doors and windows like always, is unusually meticulous about it. Sam watches him with growing agitation until he can't take it anymore. 

"What's she mean?" he asks, sitting up in bed and watching as his father stops moving. "When she said to- to tell the truth. About what?"

John takes a slow, deep breath, can't seem to bring himself to sit down, though he moves to stand at the foot of Sam's bed. "She was talking about the fire," he says, weariness obvious in his voice. "When- when your mother died."

Sam frowns a little bit, brow furrowing in confusion. "What truth?" he asks, tilting his head to the side. "Did she- is she still alive?"

His father laughs without humour, shakes his head. "No. She isn't. Missouri wanted me to tell you about... about someone else. Someone else who died in the fire."

Sam's confusion is obvious in his face, in his voice. "Someone else?"

John swallows hard, looks away. Dean's wound tight with anticipation, wants to see how John intends to handle this. "Dean," he finally manages to choke out, and Dean comes to the startling realization that it's the first time his father has said his name in more than six years. "She wanted me to tell you about Dean."

"Dean?" Sam's voice is quiet and a little scared when he repeats the name, looks around like he's trying to find the Dean he knows. "But... Dean is..."

"Dean _was_ ," John corrects quietly. "He was your brother. Your older brother, by four years. He, uh..." He pauses, scrubs a hand over his face. His voice is shaking, unsteady as he tries to continue. "He took you outside, got you to safety, but... he didn't make it." His voice breaks on the last word, and he takes a long moment to compose himself. "The Dean you know, the one you have with you? Who- who takes care of you."

John doesn't need to finish the sentence. "He's... my brother?" Sam whispers, eyes wide, starting to water. It seems to hit him, then, that it's been hidden from his for years, that everything he knows about his family is a lie. "You didn't tell me. 'Bout him." A tear slips down his cheek, and he shakes a little bit, tiny fists clenched in the bedsheets. "Why?"

But Sam's upset, and it's making Dean upset, and John doesn't get the chance to reply because the glass in a hanging mirror suddenly shatters, broken by Dean's anger at his father for causing this. John's obviously startled, jumps a little bit and swings around to figure out what the sound was, but Sam is unfazed, just sniffles and wipes at the tear. 

"What the hell?" John breathes, looks back at Sam a moment later.

Sam shrugs a little bit, looks up at his father again. "Dean," he replies quietly, all the explanation he's ever needed.

By the look that comes over John's face, a sort of disbelief, of reluctant acceptance, Dean decides that for now, it's more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick heads-up: I'm leaving for a camping trip in a few days, so I won't be able to post, and I'm moving into my dorm a couple days after that, so it might be a couple weeks before I'm able to update again. Make no mistake, I'm definitely not abandoning this. My schedule might just be a little sporadic for a while :P Thanks for reading!
> 
> Edit: Actually went through and fixed some typos and things, so. Hopefully that's not too much of a problem now :P
> 
> Additionally: When the doctor mentions DID in the bit with the testing and things, he's referring to Disassociative Identity Disorder, more commonly known as multiple personality disorder. In short, he's under the impression that Dean is an identity Sam has created for himself, one that represents the abilities he seems to have. So that's a thing. Yep. :D


	4. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sam’s grown up not expecting much in the way of holidays, of birthdays and Christmases and Halloweens, but it doesn’t stop him from getting excited for every single one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay, but here's the next chapter! It's not quite as long as the last one, but part four's going to be a behemoth, so hopefully that makes up for it. 
> 
> Oh, and one other thing. I'd really like to thank each and every one of you, because every time someone leaves kudos or a comment or even just a new hit, I get super excited, and it's great. I'm really happy this has gotten such positive reception so far, and I hope it keeps up to whatever standard I've set for myself. :D
> 
> Covers Sam's life between eight and thirteen years of age. Enjoy!
> 
> PS: Please note that the rating has, in fact, changed. Peek at the tags if you want to know why, but it's easy enough to skim over, if it bothers you. 
> 
> PPS: Still as unbeta'd as ever. Any mistakes are my own.

Even in the life of a hunter’s son, Sam doesn’t really get very many injuries. He doesn’t spend a lot of time running around outside, doesn’t do many reckless things, and usually has Dean there, ready to prevent him from getting hurt. The first time he bleeds noticeably, he’s eight years old, and he’s been left alone in the room for the day.

It isn’t like Sam’s never seen a knife before. John’s usually careful to keep them tucked away, out of Sam’s reach at the very least, but even their father makes mistakes. He seems to have become especially cautious about leaving weapons lying around after finding out about Dean’s existence, but today, he has, apparently, forgotten about one.

It’s not even an especially large knife- just a pocket-sized model, meant to be concealed as a last resort, not to seriously injure or hunt with. Regardless, Sam seems fascinated, and he’s standing up on his tiptoes and reaching to grab it off the motel’s desk. Dean’s watching, of course, but he doesn’t see a need to intervene quite yet, wonders idly what his brother plans to do with the knife once he has it. Of course, it’s likely just childish curiosity- Sam’s has been ever-increasing, as he gets older and braver about exploring his surroundings- but Dean’s content to sit back and observe, all the same.

Sam’s fumbling a bit at the handle of the knife, his fingertips just barely grazing it. He makes a frustrated sound low in his throat and tries harder, strains more. Eventually, with a lot of determination and maybe the tiniest little nudge from Dean, he manages to get something of a grip on it. He’s got the handle between two fingers, and he’s tugging it back towards himself for inspection, but he’s too excited and he’s moving too fast and the knife slips from his grip, falls from the desk, grazes his arm on the way down.

The whole thing happens before Dean can really react, and he’s mentally berating himself as Sam’s eyes go big and watery, locked on the shallow cut on his arm. It’s already starting to well up with blood, and Dean can see that his brother’s only seconds away from letting the waterworks take over. He doesn’t think, focuses intently on the cut, on his brother’s distress, on how much he wants Sam to be okay-

-and suddenly, the whole scene almost seems to play backwards, the wound stitching itself up until Sam’s cut is gone, not so much as a scratch left in its wake. Dean feels a little drained, something he hasn’t really experienced before, but it’s not enough to make him regret doing whatever it is he’s just done. 

Sam seems astonished, tears stopping before they can begin as he looks down at his arm. He traces the spot where the cut was with one fingertip, looks up into space as he often does. “De?” he asks softly, looks around. “S’that you?”

Dean’s response is a general feeling of warmth, and it only grows when Sam’s face lights up with a smile. “Didn’t know y’could do that. Thanks,” his brother says, cheerfulness in his voice again. He glances down at the knife, his own blood still wet on the blade. He doesn’t seem to want to touch it, so Dean takes the initiative to carefully pick it up, steers clear of Sam as he sets it back up on the table. He has a feeling John’s going to notice the blood, question it, ask Sam for answers he may or may not provide, but for the moment, it doesn’t matter. Not really.

\--

Sam’s grown up not expecting much in the way of holidays, of birthdays and Christmases and Halloweens, but it doesn’t stop him from getting excited for every single one. They’re in Nebraska again for his eighth Christmas, and he asks why they can’t visit the Roadhouse, tells his father that both him and Dean miss Ellen and Jo, but John just turns away, doesn’t look his son in the eye when he says they can’t go.

It’s disappointing, but that’s not really anything new in Sam’s life. Dean’s curious about John’s reaction, wants to know why he’s being so evasive about the why in his decision, but there’s no way he can ask, so he convinces himself to forget about it. Instead, they’re in a place called Broken Bow, and Dean thinks it sounds like a terrible place to spend a Christmas, but as it turns out, the inside of the motel room is just the same as every other one they’ve ever spent their time in.

On Christmas Eve, John’s out, doing something for the case he’s on- Sam hadn’t asked, and Dean hadn’t cared to listen- which leaves the two of them alone in the motel room, where Sam is very carefully wrapping a present. He’s using the comics from the newspaper, but he’s so meticulous about it that Dean thinks it looks just as good as any fancy store-bought wrapping.

“Bobby gave it to me to give to Dad,” Sam’s saying softly, as if Dean wasn’t there for the whole exchange. “Wonder if it does anythin’ cool.” He takes a moment to seal the whole thing together with clear tape Bobby had provided him with last time they saw each other, then sits back, satisfied. “D’you think he’ll like it?”

And there’s only one response to that, and that’s for Dean to send his brother all the reassurance he can muster. Frankly, at this point, he’s just praying that their father is even _here_ for Christmas, because he’s never seemed to prioritize it in the past, and Dean can’t imagine that’s any different now. 

Though the motel room is just as sparse as all their others, without a single festive decoration to light it up, Sam switches on the TV, flips around until he finds the fireplace channel, of all things, and settles back, curls up on the couch to watch it with slowly-drooping eyelids. He doesn’t even bother trying to make it to the bed, drifts off with a sleepy “night, De,” before he’s out like a light.

Dean watches with adoration, takes a moment to steal the comforter off the closest bed and drapes it over his brother carefully. Once he’s sure Sam’s good and tucked in, he settles, content to watch and wait while Sam’s asleep. 

And wait he does. For hours. Every minute, it seems more likely that John’s going to walk through the door, maybe a little bloodied and bruised, but in one piece like he always is. He’ll smile at Sam, quietly put down a couple presents, and maybe wake him up so they can enjoy the holiday together.

It’s hard for Dean not to be disappointed when it doesn’t happen like that. 

John doesn’t return that night, doesn’t appear early on Christmas morning like he mentioned he probably would. It seems to be yet another promise broken, and it’s probably Dean’s upset, the way he’s trying his best to bury it deep, that wakes his brother from his slumber.

Sam props himself up on one elbow, rubs at his eyes and looks around. “Dean?” he mumbles, and then “Dad?”, and as pleased as Dean is that his name always comes first, the expression on Sam’s face when he realizes that their father isn’t present crushes that in an instant. He looks confused, first, then sad, and then suddenly he’s _angry_ , takes a deep, shaky breath as he sits up.

“He promised.” Sam’s voice is unsteady, and Dean does what he can to try and soothe his brother, wants so desperately for him to be safe and happy on today of all days, but Sam just shakes his head fervently. “He just- he said he’d be here, De. But he _isn’t_ , he never is, and I’m-” He cuts himself off, suddenly, digs around in his pocket until he finds the little package he’d put together the night before. He stares at it for a long moment before beginning to unwrap it, moves very slowly, doesn’t tear any of the paper.

“M’not alone.” It doesn’t sound like he’s just realizing the fact; it’s like he’s reminding himself, like he’s a little relieved to remember it. “I’ve got you, De. You’re always here. Even when Dad isn’t.” He sets the crumpled paper to the side, tape still sticking to it in places, and lets the object rest in his palm.

It’s an amulet, bronze, some kind of figurehead that neither of them are able to identify. There’s definitely weight to it, and it dangles on a thin leather cord, one that Sam’s taking hold of with his free hand before carefully putting it on himself. It hangs low on his chest, the cord too long for a child of his size, but he seems unbothered, looks down at it and swallows hard. 

Before Dean knows what he’s doing, Sam’s on his feet, hurrying to his duffle. He digs through it, makes a triumphant sound when he pulls out the sketchbook he got from Ellen on his last birthday. It’s simple, but thick, heavy with pages, with the ones he’s already filled. Dean watches, confused, as he pulls out his supplies, the pencil crayons he’s collected over the past couple months, and then he’s returning to the couch, flipping through the book past pictures of Dean and old symbols and Dean and the Roadhouse and DeanDean _Dean_ because his brother draws him more than anything else, seems to be tracking his growth in graphite and coloured wax. Eventually, he lands on a blank page, and makes sure it’s properly smoothed out before he sets to work.

It doesn’t take Dean long to determine that, as usual, Sam’s drawing him. As usual, he’s grown a little since last time, and as usual, Dean’s fascinated watching himself come to life under his brother’s hand. It’s normal enough, if a little sudden, but Dean starts to understand when Sam starts sketching something in, something heavy and bronze that hangs around his neck and Sam’s giving him the amulet in the only way he knows how. 

Dean isn’t sure whether it should make him happy or sad, because even if it means the world to him, he know that this is another way that Sam’s trying to turn his back on their father. He knows Sam is angry at John, and that this is his way of getting him back, by giving his big brother the amulet meant for his father, even if Dean can’t really have it for himself. 

The drawing takes a little longer than usual- Sam takes his time making sure he gets every detail of the amulet just so- but then it’s done and Sam’s sitting back and smiling a little to himself, even as he wipes at his eyes. Dean makes sure that his brother can feel the warmth, the happiness and how grateful he is, and Sam nods a little like he’s just spoken a sentence.

“Yeah. Me, too, Dean,” he says quietly. “Merry Christmas.”

\--

When John decides that Sam’s finally old enough to start getting involved with the family business- he’s only nine years old and Dean is fuming- he’s still tiny for his age, skinny limbs and big eyes that only get bigger when he’s presented with his first handgun. It’s not especially complicated, as their father is more than happy to point out to him, and within a week Sam’s been taught how to hold it and how to work the safety and how to shoot. He’s brought to a firing range soon after that, and John’s obviously intent on teaching him about hitting his target.

Dean knows, instinctively, based on what little he’s seen on TV and from their father, that the thing’s going to have a nasty kick. He wonders if Sam knows it, too, if John’s prepared him properly. He doubts it, figures this is up to him, now.

When Sam’s lining up to shoot, arms trembling slightly under the weight of his piece, it doesn’t take much effort on Dean’s part to take some of the weight for him, to steady his aim. It’s even easier to absorb the force of the kick, when Sam finally pulls the trigger, winces at the sound, and after that, it only takes a little more practice before he’s able to direct Sam’s shots. Soon enough, he’s able to adjust the path of a bullet by fractions of an inch, making his brother a better shot than anyone ought to be at his age. 

If John notices, if he wonders whether or not Dean has something to do with it, he doesn’t ask. He seems to be, for the most part, content to go on ignoring Dean’s existence, to pretend like he never came to the realization that he’s very real, and very much here. Dean doesn’t have a problem with it, prefers it greatly to the strife that the knowledge had caused before.

It isn’t just shooting that John wants Sam to get good at, though. Within a few weeks of the start of his training, Sam’s learning the basics of hand-to-hand combat, how to defend himself, should the opportunity arise. He’s given a knife to carry, _just in case_ John says as he hands it over, and Dean doesn’t miss the way his brother swallows hard when he slips it carefully into his pocket.

Young as Sam is, though, he’s not physically ready to start building muscle, to really start honing himself into the kind of living weapon that his father has become, so after a little while, John learns to lay off, starts teaching his son more of the soft skills of hunting.

Sam’s well on his way to being fluent in Latin by the time he turns ten, has a few basic exorcisms memorized, starts tearing through old texts the way he’s starting to get into regular novels, all above his age level. Dean can’t help but be proud of his little brother, for how obviously smart he is if absolutely nothing else. He does what little he can to help with the research, offers Sam silent support when he needs a little nudge to keep going. He makes sure his brother’s taking care of himself, not being overworked, even if it may go against an order from John, and most of all, he does his best to make sure Sam is happy. 

If he can’t have a normal life, normal friends and a normal family without monster hunting as a part of his day-to-day routine, then at least he can have that much.

\--

Sam’s staying at the Roadhouse again not long after that, in late January. John had said something vague about needing to go take care of something before dropping him off and hightailing it out of there. Dean notices a dark look Ellen gives their father as he leaves, the way she won’t speak a single word to him, but she softens into her usual attitude when she turns her attention to Sam, and it’s forgotten about.

It’s a quiet morning a few days into his stay when Sam wakes up panting, eyes opening wide and searching frantically before settling a little. Dean’s used to the routine, sees it whenever his brother has a nightmare, the way Sam tries to locate him on pure instinct. As usual, there’s a sort of disappointment to the hunch of Sam’s shoulders, but he’s distracted a moment later by the wet spot on his boxers. 

Dean’s just as confused as his brother is. Sam stopped wetting the bed a couple years ago, so it doesn’t make sense that he would suddenly start up again, not even for a nightmare. Sam doesn’t seem scared, though, or shaky like he usually does when he wakes up from them. He just seems confused, and a little bit concerned. He looks up again, apparently seeking some kind of reassurance.

“Dean?” he whispers, eyes flickering around uncertainly. Dean does his best to send calm thoughts towards his brother, and it seems to help a little, because he visibly relaxes, seems to accept that his big brother knows what’s going on and that he’s perfectly fine.

Dean’s happy that he’s managed to convince Sam as much, but on the inside, where Sam can’t feel him, he’s freaking out a little bit. He has no idea what’s happening to Sam, doesn’t have an explanation for the way he’d been shifting and making soft little noises in his sleep. He can only hope that Ellen’s able to explain it to the both of them, hopes that Sam is willing to ask her.

Luckily, Sam’s never been one to shy away from learning, even if it’s about his own body, and once he’s up and changed into clean boxers as well as sweats and a loose shirt, he wanders out of the bedroom that’s been declared his own to use whenever he stays, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he heads to the small kitchen where they usually eat.

Ellen’s already there, preparing breakfast, one eye on Jo where she’s sitting at the table playing with a couple of spoons. Jo pauses when she spots Sam, smiles widely at his and waves. “Hi, Sam!” she greets, doesn’t even hesitate before adding on a slightly shyer “hi, Dean.” Dean’s pretty sure that she’s developed a bit of a crush on him, and it’s cuter than it has any right to be. Cuter still is the way his brother reacts to it, with little huffs and a possessive attitude. It makes him feel oddly smug, strange as it is.

Despite the little bit of jealousy that Dean detects in his brother’s eyes, Sam smiles and returns the wave, clambers his way up into a chair. “Morning,” he replies, turning to glance at Ellen with another smile. It seems that he’s pushed the whole wet boxers issue to the back of his mind for the moment, and Dean figures he’s decided to leave it until after breakfast. “S’there anything I can do to help?”

Ellen turns to smile at him, though there’s something tired about it that Dean can’t explain. He wonders if it has something to do with the way she’s been interacting with their father recently. He wishes there was more he was able to do to investigate. “No, I’m almost done. Thanks, Sam.”

Sam nods a little, settles down in his chair and watches Jo play with her spoons for a little while, apparently fascinated. Dean goes ahead and joins in after a little while, finds a spare lying on the table and lifts it, floats it around for their entertainment. It’s almost hilariously easy to keep the two of them occupied like this, and even Ellen chuckles softly when she turns around.

“Alright, Dean, that’s enough. No playing at the breakfast table,” she chastises gently, and Dean knows well enough to do as she says. He sets the spoon down carefully in front of his brother while Ellen sets out their plates, bacon and toast and fruit. Sam never goes hungry when he’s staying with the Harvelles, and Dean suspects that it’s part of what’s making his brother such a picky eater, why he’s started turning up his nose at their usual fast food.

Breakfast passes as it usually does; quietly, peacefully, with occasional friendly conversation between bites. Oddly enough, Ellen doesn’t inquire about their father, not the way she usually does, and Sam doesn’t mention him, gets too into telling her about a new creature he’s read about, complete with dramatic gesticulation as he speaks. Both Harvelles listen, one with a sort of amusement and the other with rapt attention, and Dean’s just enjoying listening to how passionate his brother’s getting. It isn’t often Sam gets so excited about things, not in a way he expresses to people who aren’t him, and it’s nice to see. Dean’s also been getting better at not getting jealous when his brother is friendly with Ellen and Jo, since at this point they’re as good as family and he can’t find it in himself to dislike them.

Sam finishes his meal before he finishes his description, sits with his empty plate in front of him while he continues, and by the time he's done the table’s cleared and he seems to remember that he wanted to talk to Ellen and suddenly he’s shy again. She picks up on it without trouble, sets the dishes aside to reach down and hoist Sam up, sets him on the edge of the counter so she can look him in the eye. Jo hurries over and raises her arms, and Ellen gives an amused huff before moving her to sit down next to Sam.

“What’s got you lookin’ so twitchy?” Ellen asks, turning back to the dishes. It’s obvious she’s listening, though, not humming the way she usually does while she cleans.

Sam fidgets quietly for another moment, glances at Jo where she’s sitting serenely beside him before looking at Ellen again. When he speaks, it’s in a rush, in one breath, and if it wasn’t for how well Dean knew his brother, he’s not sure he’d have understood a single word. “I woke up and there was wet on my boxers but I didn’t wet the bed I swear.”

It seems to take Ellen a moment to process the words, hands stilling as she works through the jumbled sentence, and then she’s letting out a laugh, shaking her head and turning to face him properly. “Guess your daddy never gave you the talk, huh?” she muses, leaning back against the counter.

Sam looks more lost than ever, and Dean can’t blame him. He doesn’t know what _talk_ she’s talking about, doesn’t understand what it has to do with what’s happening to his brother. “I don’t understand,” Sam says, voicing both their thoughts. “S’that got to do with anything?”

The next several minutes are spent with Ellen patiently explaining something called _puberty_ , that it happens to girls and boys when they get old enough, that he’s just had his first wet dream. Sam looks a little confused, a bit concerned when Ellen asks if he was thinking of any pretty girls the night before when he went to bed.

“I don’t like anyone at school,” he tells her, brow furrowed. “Not like that.”

She seems undeterred, and goes on to assure him that it’s normal, that there’s nothing wrong with him, that he’s perfectly healthy.

The whole conversation has a background track of Jo trying to keep her giggling to a minimum.

-

Later the same night, as Sam’s settling down for bed, getting comfy and yawning and curling around his pillow, Dean’s wondering idly if it’s going to happen again. How often Sam’s going to wake up like he had that morning, and his brother seems to be on the same train of thought.

“D’you think I’m gonna have another dream?” he asks, blinking up at the spot above him where he often looks when he’s talking to his brother like this. “Like- like Ellen said.”

Dean isn’t sure, but it sounds like a common enough occurrence according to what Ellen had said. His vague agreement seems to settle it for Sam, and he hums in response. “Guess we’ll see,” he murmurs, closing his eyes and settling down. He’s asleep soon enough, snoring softly, and Dean watches with his usual vigilance to make sure his brother stays safe. Whatever might be happening to Sam as he grows up, Dean’s intent on doing as he always has and making sure nothing bad happens to him.

\--

The first time Sam shows an interest in girls, he’s eleven years old and they’re in Wyoming for a job which may or may not involve what John calls a skinwalker. Sam’s eager to learn everything he can about them, but during daytime hours when he’s at school, it’s something else entirely that catches his attention.

Dana Rogers is something of an early bloomer, shooting up before her classmates, with pretty blonde curls and a bit more shape to her than most eleven-year-olds. She seems nice, too, gives Sam little smiles and waves whenever they pass each other at school.

To say his brother is infatuated, Dean thinks, is the understatement of the century.

Sam always gets a little clumsy around Dana, smiles bigger and ducks his head more and has stumbled over his own two feet on more than one occasion. She seems to think it’s cute, because she always giggles and looks away. 

Sam’s been at the school for six days before he asks Dean for advice.

“I don’t know what to do,” he’s saying, stretched out on his bed in their motel of the week. “She’s so nice, and she’s- she’s real pretty, Dean, and I keep doin’ stupid stuff around her.” He sighs, splays his arms out like he’s trying to release his frustration through the movement. “She probably just thinks I’m some dumb kid.”

Dean wants to reassure his brother, does his best to send soothing thoughts his way, but is surprised that the feelings are hard to come upon. Not because he doesn’t think it’s true- Sam, in his opinion, is the best thing to have ever happened to the world- but because they’re being drowned out by something else.

It’s the first time Sam has a crush, and it’s the first time that Dean is really, truly jealous of someone.

He’s used to holding the lion’s share of Sam’s attention, and doesn’t really know what to do now that someone else is taking it for themselves. It feels wrong, it upsets him, and it takes a lot of energy to plaster other feelings on top of it so Sam doesn’t know. He gets the sense, somehow, that his brother feels in anyways, doesn’t miss the amusement in Sam’s eyes or the way he’s biting back a smile.

The next time Sam sees Dana, actually manages to strike up a bit of conversation with her, Dean amuses himself by throwing balled-up paper at her when she isn’t looking. She doesn’t suspect Sam, and Sam’s a little annoyed, but Dean’s having the time of his life. If nothing else, then his brother’s attention is on him again, and that’s more than enough, all he’s ever really needed in this world.

\--

Dean’s been experimenting with his powers more and more as Sam gets older, and the more he attempts to do, the more he discovers he _can_.

Sam’s in the middle of a math test when he’s eleven years old, hunched over his desk, brow furrowed as he tries to work out the problem he’s on. Dean, meanwhile, intends to try something out, something he’s been feeling his way around a lot recently.

He lets himself drift over to another kid’s desk. It’s no one in particular, just some girl with glasses who looks like she knows what she’s doing, but Dean wants to try this out and he figures this is as good an opportunity as any. 

Once he’s got a good view of her paper- she’s already finished most of the test, by the look of it- Dean takes a moment to center himself, grasps the connection he can feel tethering him to Sam and pulls it to the forefront of his mind. He isn’t sure it’s working until he hears his brother suck in a sharp breath, and he takes it as encouragement to continue. He focuses, uses more energy than he generally does outside of patching up Sam’s injuries, but he’s doing it, and there’s an exchange of energy between them-

-and Sam abruptly stands up, and Dean’s distracted enough that the heightened sense of connection is broken. The teacher’s attention snaps to him, a disapproving look on the man’s face, but Sam stammers out some excuse about not feeling well before hurrying out of the room, ignoring the stares he’s attracting from his classmates.

Sam’s quiet as he walks, making a beeline for the bathroom, but once he’s there he checks that it’s empty and locks the door behind him before starting to speak. “What the hell was that?” He doesn’t even bother whispering, like usual, which is what tips Dean off that he’s actually upset. “Dean, I- I wasn’t seeing my paper, that was…” He stops, suddenly, like something’s just occurred to him. “Was that- was that what you were seeing? Were you showing me that on purpose?”

Dean’s more than a little proud of himself for discovering the ability, and apparently Sam takes that as enough of an answer. “Dean, that’s _cheating._ I’m not gonna cheat on a test like that, it’s not fair! To that girl, or to the teacher, or to anyone.”

It’s more like he’s using every resource to his advantage, in Dean’s opinion, but instead of trying to express that to his brother, he grasps for what he’d latched onto before. He finds it, tugs it, focuses again, and then Sam’s blinking several times, eyes going unfocused as he sees what Dean is showing him.

His brother laughs a little, smiling, and Dean counts it as a win. “That’s- that’s me. Yeah, Dean, I know.” He looks up, then, and though his eyes remain unseeing, his face is tilted towards where Dean’s centered himself, and it sends an oddly pleasant shiver through his being. “Alright, fine, it’s pretty cool. Bet this comes in handy during card games, and stuff.” He pauses, frowns slightly. “Or hunting.”

And suddenly Dean sees a thousand new possibilities for the use of this power. Because he doesn’t _have_ to use it for screwing around, for cheating on tests or peeping on girls or any of the other things he’d initially had in mind. He can use it to _protect_ his brother, to keep Sam safe- on hunts, and otherwise. It gives him the ability to let Sam see what he does, to give him advanced warning of any incoming threats.

Sam seems a little overwhelmed by the sudden rush of discovery from Dean, and he tries to tone it down a little, starting by giving Sam his own vision back. Sam blinks a few times, eyes focusing properly again. “Guess we’ll have to figure out how to use it best,” he murmurs. He smiles, then. “But- it really is pretty sweet, Dean. Good job.” He pauses, then, purses his lips in annoyance. It looks like he’s trying to stifle a smile. “But you totally owe me for that math test. Jerk.”

\--

At twelve years old, Sam’s still learning about the way his body works (to Dean’s endless amusement and, admittedly, fascination), and it’s one day at school that he starts getting curious about one function in particular.

Even after his talk with Ellen, all the wet dreams he’d had since then, Sam hasn’t done a whole lot of exploration of his own body. When he wakes up, he usually just heads straight for the shower to deal with the problem, which Dean thinks seems rather inefficient, but it’s working for him, and Sam doesn’t seem to have any issues with his system until he learns about the alternative. 

“My mom totally almost caught me last night,” someone’s saying, one of Sam’s classmates during their lunch period. He’s the same age as Sam, but bigger, and (in Dean’s humble opinion) stupider. His name is Alvin or Devin or Johnathon or something, and he’s surrounded by a few of his cronies, all listening with wide eyes. He looks smug to be the center of attention, which just involves him scrunching up his nose in a way that Dean thinks makes him look like a pig.

Nevertheless, Sam is curious, just like he’s always been, and he sneaks a little closer to listen. He’s not close enough to be mistaken for part of the little group gathered around the kid, but he _is_ close enough not to miss anything he’s saying. 

“How often d’you do it?” one of the other kids asks, obviously awed. Sam’s brow furrows in confusion, and Dean tries to pretend he isn’t curious. The quirk of his brother’s lips tells him he isn’t successful.

The kid sniffs, smirks, and puffs out his chest a little. It makes him look like an over-inflated peacock. “Almost every night,” he says proudly. “More when my parents are out.”

There’s a chorus of impressed oh-ing and ah-ing, but Sam still seems lost. The kid keeps going, though, so he stays quiet. “Even got my hands on a couple magazines.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “My older cousin keeps ‘em around, and I grabbed one last time I visited. Bet he didn’t even notice.”

Apparently, Sam can’t stand the curiosity anymore, and steps closer, tugging on the sleeve of one of the kids on the outskirts of the little crowd. The guy turns to face him, raises an eyebrow. Sam visibly steels himself before speaking. “What’re they talkin’ about? What does he do while his parents are out?”

The kid raises his eyebrows, but thankfully, doesn’t try to draw anyone else’s attention. Dean thinks he might’ve had to throw a chair or something at him if he’d tried to put Sam on the spot like that. “You don’t know?” he asks, voice pitched low. “Like- y’know.” And then he forms a loose fist, a circle with his fingers, and makes a crude gesture near his crotch.

Sam goes red faster than Dean thought was possible, and stammers out something like a thanks as he turns and hurries away, ignoring the vaguely amused look on the kid’s face. He makes a beeline for the nearest bathroom, makes sure it’s empty, and then leans against the sinks with a sigh.

“Always wondered if there was a better way.” Sam doesn’t need to explain for Dean to know what he means. He knows his brother hasn’t been satisfied by the cold shower method he’s been sticking to, but has been too nervous to try anything else for the moment. Now, though, that he knows it’s normal- normal enough for other boys to be talking about at school, anyways- he seems curious, even a little bit relieved. “Maybe…” Sam glances down, then, at the front of his pants, before seeming to remember where he is. He goes red all over again, clears his throat. “Maybe later.” 

And Dean’s a little amused to find that, for the first time in what feels like ages, the words aren’t actually meant for him.

-

John’s out of town, having left Sam behind in the motel- he’s been deemed fit to fend for himself for long stretches of time since hitting double-digits- so he seems unbothered about taking his time to get home. What seems to be making him nervous, though, is the detour he’s taking.

Dean knows his brother better than anyone, and if there’s one thing he’s sure about when it comes to Sam, it’s that he doesn’t like making mistakes. He does things by the book when possible, and as it stands now, the only guideline he has for what he’s planning to do is the boy from earlier, the bragging he’d done. So, in an attempt to replicate what he’d described as closely as possible, Sam’s on a mission to find one of the magazines he’d heard about.

It turns out to be a hell of a lot easier than he’d anticipated. They’re on display at a local gas station, and the clerk is easy to distract- Dean just needs to knock over some cans down in the other end of the store, and Sam's able to slip away with one of them shoved in his jacket, unnoticed. He keeps it hidden there on the way home like he thinks he’s going to get stopped on the street for having it in at all. The red in his cheeks doesn't ease up the whole way there.

He makes it back to the motel without incident, but still hurries inside like he’s a hunted fugitive. Dean thinks it’s all pretty funny to watch, especially when Sam closes and locks the door before spending a solid thirty seconds inspecting the room, apparently expecting to find someone hiding there, waiting for him. The coast is clear, though, and he seems to relax a little. Regardless, he carefully sets the magazine on the motel’s desk, then proceeds to ignore it for a while, going about his evening as usual.

-

It’s only after Sam’s finished his homework, eaten dinner, and washed up for bed that he even looks at the magazine again. He’s in his pajamas, and pads across the room to carefully pick it up before heading to his bed. He gets comfortable, propped up against the headboard, and opens it up.

He seems almost surprised that the contents don’t jump out to bite him, but his eyes widen a little all the same. He hasn’t had much experience with nudity, short of what he’s seen on TV, and a whole magazine full of naked women in compromising positions is more than a little shocking for him.

All the same, Sam swallows hard, feels a now-familiar warmth stirring low in his gut.

Instead of shaking it off, resolutely ignoring the feeling and getting out of bed to hop in the shower, he goes with it. Following what his body wants him to do, he shifts lower on the bed, keeping the magazine upright with one slightly-shaking hand while the other slides down his body, hesitates at the waistband of his pants before slipping it underneath, past it, into the boxers he’s wearing.

He’s only half-hard, but as soon as his fingers brush against his cock, he sucks in a sharp breath, squeezes his eyes shut tight at the feeling. It’s good, something he’s never felt before, and he wants more.

Dean watches his brother work through the mechanics with a vague sense of interest, of curiosity. He lets himself remain as a silent observer for a while until he gets restless, feels the need to try to help Sam with this. He tells himself that it’s no different than when Sam was learning to walk, to shoot a gun. It’s just something else he can make easier for his little brother, and he fully intends to do so. 

He isn’t sure, at first, how he can help- he’s not really capable of the kind of physical contact Sam seems to need, after all- and takes a long moment to just listen to the way Sam’s panting softly, the way his movements are a little more sure now, a little more frantic. Dean notices, then, that he’s mostly abandoned the magazine, eyes still locked on whichever page is open, but both hands occupied running over his own body. An idea pops to mind, and Dean’s focusing his attention on the magazine within seconds.

As soon as the page turns, Sam seems to snap out of his daze a little bit, eyes clearing and brow furrowing before he seems to realize what’s happening, and abruptly turns rather frustrated. 

“Oh my god, Dean, leave me alone!” he groans, squeezes his eyes shut like he can will his brother into stillness. 

Dean’s a little affronted that Sam’s so ready to brush off his attempt at help, and promptly decides that he’s going to make this as difficult as possible for his brother, instead. So, he yanks the magazine out of Sam’s loose grip and throws it across the room, just for the hell of it.

Sam makes a frustrated sound, opening his eyes properly and glaring at nothing in particular. “Dean, you suck. I hate you.” And he sounds annoyed, but his hand is still shoved down his pants and Dean really can’t find it in himself to take his brother seriously while he looks so flustered.

Needless to say, Sam’s first attempt at masturbation doesn’t go quite as well as he’d anticipated.

\--

Sam’s thirteen years old the first time he works up the nerve to ask a girl out.

Her name is Lucy Davidson, and she’s got golden hair and big blue eyes and there’s something about her that Dean really, really dislikes. He can’t tell if it’s the way she smiles at Sam, the way she laughs, the way she tucks her hair behind one ear when she’s nervous, but it's there all the same, an ugly feeling he doesn’t care to put a name to. Sam doesn’t seem to notice, thankfully, because Dean can’t imagine his brother would be very happy with him if he’d picked up on it. 

Predictably, based on all the signals she’s been giving off, Lucy agrees to go out with Sam without hesitation. Young as they are, “going out” mostly entails hanging out with each other more than with other people, holding hands during lunch breaks, and exchanging a lot of notes during class. It’s sickeningly sweet in a way Dean can’t stand, and before he knows it, he’s decided that he isn’t going to let it continue.

He feels like maybe it should be concerning, how much he wants- how much he _needs_ \- to have control over this aspect of his brother’s life, but he chooses not to analyse it too deeply. 

Dean doesn’t reach his breaking point for a while into their relationship. The two of them spend increasingly more time together, and Dean almost wishes that their father would return, just so he can grab Sam and go, force them to break up before they can go any farther. Sam seems to be aware of this possibility too, though, because he’s more than happy to take things a little faster when Lucy encourages him.

They’ve found a relatively secluded spot under the school’s bleachers, one day after school’s ended, and they’re just talking, at first, smiling and laughing like they always do together. But then Lucy tucks her hair behind one ear, looks down for a moment before looking up again, going a little pink in the cheeks. They’ve reached a pause in their conversation, and she’s leaning forward, and to Dean’s horror, so is his brother. Before he can react, their lips meet, and they’re sharing a chaste kiss.

Dean doesn’t think, doesn’t let himself consider the consequences of his actions as he usually tries to for the sake of protecting his brother. He acts on pure emotion, one he’s finally come to identify as jealousy, and flings an abandoned bottle, causes it to shatter against one of the metal supports scattered around them.

Sam and Lucy jump apart, but she’s the only one who seems truly startled. “What the hell?” she breathes, looks around frantically until she spots the shattered bottle. Her eyes return to Sam, wide and scared, and he looks apologetic and a little annoyed. “Sam, you heard that, right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” he soothes, steps towards her and sets a comforting hand on her arm. He looks around, a warning in his eyes that Dean knows is meant for him. “Stuff echoes under here, probably got knocked over by a… bird. Or something.”

As if the explanation isn’t weak enough, Dean sabotages it further by finding another bottle, and having it meet the same end as the first. Lucy jumps again, and Sam’s lips press into a thin line.

“Sam, c’mon, we should go, there’s something weird happening,” she urges, turning to leave.

Sam grabs her arm, looks a little worried, now. “Lucy, seriously, it’s nothing to worry about. It’s just-” And then he falters, because he’s gotten out of the habit of telling people about Dean the way he used to. He’s well aware that he’s too old to get away with the imaginary friend excuse, and he doesn’t want people to think he’s insane. “Me,” he finishes weakly. “It’s just… me. I did it.”

Lucy’s fear seems to have shifted into confusion and distrust, and Dean can see the moment his brother loses her. “What do you mean, you did it?” she asks quietly, tugs her arm out of his grip. Sam doesn’t offer any resistance, and he’s gone a little pale. “You’re- what, you’re telling me you’re some kind of psychic, or something?”

Sam seems to realize he’s already messed this up beyond salvage with the claim, and he visibly slumps, looks away. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Guess so.”

Lucy doesn’t even bother with a response, just turns on her heel and walks away. She pointedly avoids the broken glass, and Dean’s sort of annoyed that she was so short with his brother, and he’s just about ready to throw the next bottle straight at her-

“Don’t.” Sam’s voice is quiet, and Dean returns his attention to his brother. He looks tired, and he sighs, rubs at the bridge of his nose. He isn’t watching Lucy leave, has shifted his attention to the ground, kicks at a loose pebble. “Don’t even think about it, Dean.”

Dean restrains himself, if only to make Sam happy, and Lucy walks away unscathed. Only once she’s out of earshot does Sam seem to straighten up, and there’s something in his eyes that isn’t defeat. It only takes Dean a moment to recognize it at anger. 

“Really, Dean?” Dean’s caught off-guard by how pissed his brother sounds, doesn’t have time to brace himself before Sam’s continuing. “Am I not allowed to have a girlfriend? Is that what that was? Seriously, what the hell?” He makes a frustrated sound, shoves his fingers through his hair. 

Dean isn’t entirely sure how to respond. He hadn’t really bothered thinking about how his actions were going to affect Sam- which was stupid of him, he thinks, after the times he’s screwed up in the past- and realizes, belatedly, that he doesn’t really have an explanation for what he’d done. 

Sam seems to pick up on this, because he snorts. “Wow. You just… felt like screwing with me, or something? That’s- that’s great, Dean. Thanks.” 

Sam refuses to talk to him for the rest of the day, and Dean’s more than a little upset by it. He isn’t used to his brother being mad at him, not for this long, and certainly not with this much intensity. He makes a mental note about not messing with Sam’s romantic life, and a few days later, they seem to be back to normal. Lucy won’t make eye contact with Sam, but they leave town that weekend, so it doesn’t turn out to be much of a problem.

\--

It isn’t long after Sam’s first breakup that he decides he wants to spend the fourth of July like every single other American ever, for once in his life. He finds it surprisingly easy to get his hands on a ridiculous number of fireworks- Dean’s more than happy to do what he can to make his brother happy, feels like he needs to make up for the whole situation with Lucy, so he decides to take advantage of the power he has to possess people to occupy the store’s clerk just long enough that Sam can pay and leave without being carded. The whole thing seems to unsettle Sam a little, but he forgets about it quickly enough, hurrying back to the room with the massive case of fireworks held carefully in his arms.

He hides them without a problem, stuffs them under his bed, so their father is none the wiser for the brief time he spends in the room. He’s off again soon enough, tells Sam to stay in the room, don’t answer the door, the usual orders he gets when John goes anywhere. He nods along like usual, but Dean can almost feel him thrumming with excitement, and he really can’t blame his brother. Once John’s gone, Sam waits anxiously for a whole hour, puttering around the room at random to occupy himself, to make sure his father isn’t coming back. He doesn’t.

As soon as the sixty minute marker has passed, Sam’s up and moving, gathering everything he needs for his excursion. He pulls on his jacket, shoves his emergency-only cell phone in his pocket, double-checks that he has the key to the room, and last of all grabs the fireworks. He’s out of the room within ten minutes, walking with determination.

He’s already scoped out a spot, secluded without being especially out of the way, and he heads straight there. Dean knows it’s a bit of a walk, is ready to soothe Sam as best he can when his feet start aching. He presses on, though, unwilling to let something as simple as sore feet stop him from what he wants to do. 

The walk takes him twenty minutes from the moment he leaves the motel, and then he’s in a clearing, just off the road on the outskirts of town. Sam stops, takes a moment to catch his breath, sets down the box that must feel ridiculously heavy by now.

“Your turn, De,” he murmurs, gestures to the fireworks. He crouches down to tear the box open, then sits down, watches expectantly.

Dean doesn’t disappoint. One by one, he carefully removes the fireworks from their packaging, lays them out at random before he really gets started. Making sure his brother’s a safe distance from where the explosions are going to happen- it’s more of a guesstimate than anything, since this is the first time either of them have done this- he turns his attention to the fuses.

It isn’t something he’s tried before, but Dean’s confident in his ability, and it's something that he's more than willing to exert energy on. He still feels bad for making Sam so upset about the way his first relationship had ended, and feels the need to make it up to him, somehow. This seems like a good way to start, he thinks, and it’s with that in mind that he succeeds. The fuse lights, seemingly of its own accord, and Dean lifts the firework again and then it’s going off, shooting into the sky and exploding in shades of red and blue.

“You did it.” Sam doesn’t sound surprised, but there’s still awe in his voice, and when Dean focuses on him, his brother’s eyes are wide and there’s a soft smile on his face as he watches the fireworks. It encourages Dean further, and without wasting more time, he’s starting on the others.

It takes a while to work through every firework, and by the time they’re halfway finished, Sam’s standing, laughing and running through the showers of sparks. Dean isn’t sure he’s ever seen his brother quite this happy since he was a toddler. 

It’s only the very last one that doesn’t go quite as planned. Dean doesn’t pick it up fast enough, and then the grass catches fire, and Sam just barely has time to see the last explosion of colour before he’s turning on his heel and running, but he’s still laughing, and even though the fire might end up on the news tomorrow, he isn’t worried, and the night cements itself as one of the best he can remember.

Sam’s obviously exhausted by the time he gets back to the motel, falls into bed and closes his eyes as soon as his head hits the pillow. Before he passes out, though, he cracks one eye open, smiles a little bit. “Thanks, Dean. That was awesome,” he whispers. “Love you.” He’s asleep a moment later, and the smile doesn’t leave his face.

It’s all Dean needs to hear to know that he’s been forgiven. 

Even if he can't be there with his brother the way he wants to be- can't laugh with him, or run with him, or nudge him playfully or even really touch him at all, period- Dean's happy that he can give Sam this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading, again. Another heads-up: I'm moving tomorrow, and school starts the week after next, and I have so, so much to write for the next chapter, so it might be a bit of a wait. As usual, I'll try to write as fast as possible, just don't start a lynch mob if I don't update quickly. Please and thank you. :D


	5. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _By the time Sam turns fourteen, he’s started to gather quite the reputation in the hunting world._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This actually came out faster than expected, cool. Anyways, here's part four. Some warnings to note: though I haven't listed it as an archive warning (because it's short and not extremely severe), there are some non-con elements in this chapter. If you want to skip over that bit, go for it, I just wanted to make sure everyone knew it was there. Yeah.
> 
> This chapter is like, super long. So good luck. It covers Sam between fourteen and seventeen, and I had a ton of fun writing it. Enjoy!

By the time Sam turns fourteen, he’s started to gather quite the reputation in the hunting world.

It isn’t because he’s a great hunter. John’s still adamant about keeping him locked up safe in the motel rooms they stay in during the hands-on parts of hunts, lets him do research and clean the guns and take inventory of their supplies, but not a whole lot else. There’s no reason for anyone to be aware that John Winchester even _has_ a son, let alone one who helps him with hunting in any way.

That is, there wouldn’t be a reason if it wasn’t for Dean.

It isn’t like Sam advertises his brother’s existence, the things he can do. He’d learned years ago- from classmates, from his time spent in the testing facility, from his own father- that it generally doesn’t end well, that people aren’t often willing to accept it and move on- especially as he gets older, and especially in their line of work. He’s done his best to keep it quiet, and Dean usually cooperates with him, doesn’t want to get his brother in trouble for something he’s done.

Their attempts are successful, for the most part. People don’t know who Sam is, and they don’t bother him. It only takes one mistake, though, one slip-up, and before either of them realize what’s happened, there’s no way for them to undo the damage.

It’s nothing major, nothing that they haven’t done before. Dean thinks, later, that they’d just got a little careless, a little sloppy. A little too comfortable. Regardless, when Sam’s spending the day at the Roadhouse, and he’s hanging out with Jo in the bar instead of the back rooms like usual, his guard is down far enough that he doesn’t think anything of it when he reaches for his glass of water and Dean moves it for him, straight into his hand. He smiles, like he always does, but then his attention is back on Jo, on talking about some new movie they both want to see.

If Dean notices the way one of the Roadhouse’s patrons, a younger hunter with a rugged look to him, narrows his eyes, watches Sam closely for the rest of his time there, he doesn’t care enough to remember it. He’s too distracted by watching Sam, the way he’s smiling and laughing and undeniably _happy_ , and even if Dean isn’t the one responsible, he loves to see it all the same. 

It becomes obvious, later, how much of a mistake his ignorance had been.

-

It isn’t long after that, a couple weeks later and a couple states east, that Sam’s spending the night alone in the motel, as he’s become accustomed to. His father’s out, left him with a note and his usual instructions to stay inside, and like he has every other time in the past couple years, Sam rolls his eyes and sets about doing whatever he wants.

This evening in particular, “whatever he wants” turns out to be just talking to Dean. Even if he can’t respond properly, can’t form words or sentences or even facial expressions the way he wants to be able to, his brother seems perfectly happy to take note of his emotions and respond accordingly. It’s more time together like this than they’ve had in a while, and Dean’s happy to go along with it like he always does.

Sam’s stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling and gesturing with both hands in the space above him as he talks- telling Dean all about the paper he plans to write for school, about what he’s going to tell his teacher about how he spent the summer.

“I mean- there’s no use lying, right? It’s not like he’s gonna believe me, anyways, if I tell him. We hunted a werewolf. I mean, _we_ didn’t, but Dad did, and I kind of got to watch, right? Definitely did all the background checks.”

It’d been an interesting hunt, if nothing else, and Dean doesn’t see a problem with his brother bringing it to life on pen and paper. He’s already drawn the creature, tucked away in his sketchbook in between more pictures of Dean, and a picture always deserved a thousand words to go along with it, according to Sam.

He pauses, suddenly, and purses his lips, apparently considering something. “I’m thirsty,” he decides, sitting up and stretching. He glances up, in Dean’s general direction. “You gonna tell Dad if I sneak out to buy myself a coke?”

Dean wonders if Sam can feel the way he’s mentally rolling his eyes, and judging by the laugh his brother snorts out, he can. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Thanks.” He rolls out of bed, grabs a couple of bills from his wallet as well as the room key, and pulls his shoes on before leaving the room, careful not to disturb the salt lines he’d refreshed earlier. 

Sam hums under his breath as he heads over to the motel’s vending machine, shoulders hunched against the bite of cool September air. It’s dark, the only light coming from weak light bulbs spaced out between the rooms, but he doesn’t seem bothered, just focuses on feeding a crumpled bill into the slot and squinting at the buttons to figure out which one will give him the drink he wants.

Dean sees the men coming, but he can’t warn his brother before they’re already too close.

“Sam Winchester, right?” the first one calls as they approach. Sam doesn’t jump, but he exhales sharply, breath coming out in a puff of white air. He doesn’t respond right away, but the guy- Dean suddenly recognizes him as the young hunter from the Roadhouse, but doesn’t know what to make of that- seems to accept the way he looks up as agreement. “Thought so. Daddy didn’t do a very good job hiding you, did he?”

Dean’s starting to get a bad feeling about this whole situation, and Sam doesn’t seem to be far behind him, swallowing hard before turning around to face the guys, back to the vending machine. “I don’t need hiding,” he replies, manages to keep his voice steady. “What do you want?”

One of the other guys- there’s three of them, Dean notes, and he wonders with growing dread why they’ve come in such large numbers- smiles at him, but there’s something about the expression that makes Dean feel dirty, and he isn’t even the one it’s directed at. “Y’know, I bet John thinks he’s so clever. Keepin’ you all to himself the way he does. No wonder he’s good at what he does, he’s got a little baby psychic on his team.”

Sam’s eyes go wide as he seems to realize what they’re talking about, and he goes to grab for a weapon he doesn’t have. There’s a knife in his pocket, like always, but against three hunters who are bigger, more experienced, and probably better equipped than him, it’ll probably be about as useful as a toothpick. He pulls it out anyways, holds the blade in front of himself defensively the way he’s been taught. 

If Dean wasn’t angry before, the way the men laugh at his brother now sends him over the edge. “You really think that’s going to help you?” the first man asks, sounds like he’s talking to a child who doesn’t know what they’re doing. “We’re not here to hurt you. We just want to get a taste of what Johnny boy’s been usin’ for years.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” That much, Dean knows, is true; John’s never once used Sam as part of a hunt, not the way these men seem to be implying. They’re acting under the assumption that Dean’s been helping their father with his job, giving him a hand up in dealing with the monsters he fights. It isn’t true, but he doubts they’re going to be willing to accept that. “I don’t- I’m not psychic.”

“Right, of course you aren’t.” The man is almost painfully condescending, and he sounds uninterested in what Sam has to say. It’s clear that he isn’t playing around anymore. “Stop fucking around, kid. You’re comin’ with us one way or another, s’just a matter or whether or not you’ll be conscious. How’s that sound, Sammy?”

Dean isn’t sure whether it’s the blatant threat or the use of the nickname that pisses him off, but either way, he’s heard enough. These men are an obvious threat to his brother’s wellbeing, and he isn’t going to stand around and watch while they try to hurt him.

Sam picks up it, apparently, because there’s the tiniest smile on his face right before he lets go of the knife. It starts to fall, but before it hits the ground, Dean takes it, and without warning, sends it blade-first into the closest man’s thigh.

He seems more shocked than anything, at first, but then he’s going white, clutching at his leg as he goes down. The other two don’t hesitate before going into action. One goes into his jacket, draws a gun while the other is stepping forward and getting off a solid right hook before Dean can even think about trying to stop him. Sam isn’t ready for the hit, and it knocks his head back against the vending machine. Dean just has time to see the pain in his brother’s eyes before he’s slumping to the ground, stunned for the moment.

The men seem extremely pleased with themselves, but Dean doesn’t give them the opportunity to celebrate. Threatening his brother is one thing, but no one’s ever actually hurt him the way they just have, and he’s almost startled by his own rage.

The knife wrenches itself out of the downed man’s leg and promptly jams itself in his windpipe. He chokes on his own blood and the light goes out of his eyes just as the other two seem to realize what’s going on.

“What the fuck?” one whispers, looks around fearfully. “He’s- he’s down, he’s out, how is he still-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, though, because Dean’s possessed the man holding the gun. With dead eyes, he turns it on his comrade and shoots him in the back of the head. He turns the gun on himself, next, and then all three are dead and Sam’s just coming to, dazed and scared and starting to bleed from where the man’s ring had cut his cheek.

“Dean?” he whispers, and his voice cracks as he looks at the bodies in front of him. Dean decides that it’s time to go, because even if the gun has a silencer on, someone’s bound to notice the bodies sooner than later, and it only takes a gentle nudge from him before his brother is standing, legs shaky, and heading back to the room, glancing back every third step. He doesn’t bother trying to retrieve his money from the vending machine, but Dean has the sense to remove the knife from the man’s throat and bring it along with them.

Once the door’s been locked and deadbolted behind him, Sam slowly walks to his bed, sits down on the edge and raises a trembling hand to his cheek. His fingers come away bloody, and Dean’s quick to focus on the wound, closing it up without much trouble. The bump on the back of his head where he’d hit the vending machine is a little tougher to fix, and it leaves him feeling tired, but it's worth it for the relief on Sam’s face.

“You… you saved me.” And Dean relaxes as Sam soothes a concern he hadn’t realized had been there. The last time he was especially violent around his brother was the incident with their father, and a tiny part of Dean had been worried that Sam would be scared of him all over again. It seems that isn’t the case, though, because his brother just takes a deep breath and lies down carefully, stares at the ceiling for a long moment.

“Why don’t they get it?” he mumbles, closing his eyes to rub at them tiredly. “It’s not me, I don’t… I can’t do anything like that. And you don’t even hunt, De.” It’s everything that Dean’s been wondering about since his brother was approached in the first place, and he still doesn’t have a good answer. “Wish they’d just… leave us alone.” 

Sam doesn’t sleep that night, stays up late and talks to Dean until he works up the ambition to call their father. John actually answers for once, thankfully, and as soon as Sam’s explained the situation, barely managing to keep his voice steady, he promises to be back as soon as possible, that he’ll hit the road right away.

It isn’t until a while later, as Sam’s talking to him in a sleepy voice and struggling to keep his eyes open, that Dean comes to the realization that this is the first time he’s killed to protect his brother. He feels like it should be more monumental, that something about him should’ve changed, but all he can think is that it probably won’t be the last.

\--

Sam hasn’t tried anything with any girls since what had happened with Lucy the year before, so it’s as much a surprise to him as it is to Dean when he falls into a sort-of-relationship with Jo.

It doesn’t feel like a major shift- there’s no big announcement, and Ellen treats him the same way as always- but suddenly in addition to their normal conversation, the smiles they share, there’s more contact, lingering touches and shy smiles and they even kiss a couple times. 

Dean’s a little surprised that he doesn’t feel the same aggressive jealousy he’d gotten from Sam’s last relationship. He decides that it’s because he already likes Jo, and because she sort of reminds him of himself. He doesn’t think about that part too hard, but settles for accepting the relationship as what it is: a couple close friends trying something out. 

“Are we dating?” Jo asks one day while they relax in the back rooms of the Roadhouse. She’s stretched out on the couch, and Sam’s leaning against it, sitting on the floor so his head rests lightly against her temple.

“I don’t know,” he replies, the honesty clear in his voice as he tips his head to try to look at her properly. “D’you want us to be dating?”

Jo seems to consider this for a long moment, purses her lips in thought. She sits up, then, shifts so she can play with Sam’s hair. It’s getting longer by the day, and he’s gotten into the habit of refusing to cut it short. 

“I don’t know,” she echoes, trying her best to braid the brunet strands together. “I mean- wouldn’t that be weird?” And Dean knows just exactly what she means, because- “You’re kinda like my brother.” She scrunches up her nose at that, and Sam laughs, careful to keep his head still so he doesn’t disrupt her work.

“Yeah, I guess I am,” he muses. He seems to contemplate that for a moment before something occurs to him. “Doesn’t that make Dean kinda like your brother, too?”

Jo makes a soft sound of acknowledgement, squints a little as she tries to focus on Sam’s hair. “Guess so.” She pauses, then, laughs. “D’you remember when I had a crush on him?” It’s the first verbal confirmation Dean’s had of the fact, and he feels a little pleased with himself for guessing correctly. “Can’t even see him, and little me wanted to marry him. Pretty funny, huh?”

Sam doesn’t reply for a moment, and when Dean checks on his brother, he’s surprised to see the way he’s pressing his lips together, and there’s a certain possessiveness in his eyes that Dean hadn’t realized he’s been missing until it’s back. “Yeah,” he manages a moment later, snaps himself out of it. “Yeah, s’funny.”

They’re quiet for a little while longer, and Dean’s having the time of his life. He pins it on Sam being content, rather than knowing Sam wants to keep him all to himself, too. It’s good to know the feeling goes both ways.

-

The relationship- if it can be called that, anyways- doesn’t last especially long before they mutually decide that they’re better off staying as friends, and there aren’t any hard feelings between them when they go back to the way they’d interacted before. Ellen seems more amused by the whole event than anything else, rolling her eyes when Sam tells her solemnly that they’ve broken up. Everyone gets over it pretty quickly, no hearts are broken, and Dean’s glad it hadn’t driven a rift between his brother and one of his only constant friends. He isn’t sure what Sam would do if he lost Ellen and Jo.

\--

Sam is fifteen the first time he’s propositioned by another guy.

He doesn’t see it coming, is given no reason to expect Marshall Stirling to approach him at all- they’re in radically different social groups, in that Marshall’s near the middle of this particular high school’s food chain while Sam is barely registered at all- and is, appropriately, caught off-guard when he’s asked if he wants to grab a coffee sometime.

Dean is similarly confused by the whole situation. Less confusing is the jealousy it inspires in him. He’s gotten used to it by now, accepted that he’s never going to get used to having to share his brother with people. He doesn’t like to think about why he’s so set on keeping this part of Sam’s life to himself, the romantic part, but he’s learned to block it out, to focus on keeping Sam safe and happy.

And it seems, at the moment, that this whole situation is working against that.

In the moment, Sam had asked Marshall for more time, stuttered out a promise of getting him a response the next day, and had been left wide-eyed and not entirely sure what to do with himself.

Later, once he’s finished up his work and is settled back in the motel again, he’s lying down on his bed, frowning up at the ceiling with his arms crossed behind his head. “Why’d he even ask me out?” he’s wondering aloud, and Dean has a thousand answers, because his brother is the best person in the entire world, but all he can do is let Sam feel how important he is to him. 

It makes Sam smile, but there’s still a sort of worry etched into his features. “What if it was just a joke? Or a prank, or something?” He sighs, rubs at the bridge of his nose. When he speaks next, he squeezes his eyes shut, and the words are quiet, like he doesn’t intend anyone to hear. Dean does, anyways. “What’s gonna happen if I say yes?”

It’s not something that Sam’s ever talked about before, wanting to have any kind of romantic relationship with someone who isn’t female. John’s never brought it up, and it isn’t the sort of conversation he’s ever tried to have with any of his other- admittedly limited- contacts. But Dean can see it in his brother’s face, the curiosity, and knows that he wants to try. 

It takes a lot of verbal musings which are, for the most part, directed at Dean, for Sam to decide that he’s going to say yes. 

“We’re not gonna be here in two weeks, anyways,” he murmurs, eyes closed. He’s mostly asleep, just mumbling to himself and his brother as he tries to think the whole thing over. “Might not… get another chance…”

Just like that, he’s out like a light, and Dean is left alone with his own thoughts. Mostly about Marshall Stirling, and why Sam thinks he’s good enough to experiment with, and that train of thought starts leading him in all sorts of directions he doesn’t want to acknowledge. So instead, he lets himself slip into the almost hibernative state that he’s grown accustomed to when his brother is sleeping. He’s awake, of course, aware, but he’s learned to shut down most of his thoughts, his feelings. It makes it easier for Sam to sleep, too, so he figures it’s a win-win sort of deal- it’s good for Sam, and Dean gets a little rest as a bonus. 

In a life where he’s so entirely dependent on one person’s happiness, he takes his little pleasures wherever he can get them.

-

Sam manages not to see Marshall until he’s getting ready to leave school the next day, is caught by his locker when the other boy approaches him with a smile. He leans against the locker beside Sam’s, starts with a soft “hey.” Sam turns to him, looks a little scared but mostly just determined, and Marshall seems to take that as a cue to continue. “So… did you have time to think about it at all? If you wanted to-?”

“Yes.” Sam cuts him off, looks a little embarrassed after the fact. “I mean- yes, I thought about it. And my answer is yes. I think I’d like going to get a coffee with you.” 

Marshall looks pleasantly surprised, and Dean wonders idly if he’d been expecting rejection. Either way, he nods, his smile growing. “That’s great. Thanks for giving me a chance and stuff, Sam. Uh- are you free tonight?”

They make plans to meet at a local café later that night, part ways, both of them smiling a little to themselves. It bothers Dean that Marshall can already make Sam look like that, so he tries not to think about it more than he strictly needs to. It’s different, somehow, than even Lucy was, for reasons he can’t quite pinpoint.

Sam spends his walk home in a bit of a happy daze. Dean spends it hoping his brother doesn’t notice his sulking.

-

Sam ends up spending what is, in Dean’s opinion, far too long picking out his clothes for the date- if that’s what it is, anyways; Sam spends a very long time debating it with himself- and eventually settles on one of his nicer button-downs with a pair of jeans. It can pass as casual, but is just classy enough to get away with that sort of look if he needs to. He makes it to the café ten minutes early, spends the time talking to Dean under his breath.

“What if I’m overdressed?” he whispers, looks genuinely anxious about it. “Or underdressed? What if he hates me? What if he doesn’t show up at all?” Dean feels a little bad for the amusement he feels, tries and fails to stifle it. Sam makes a face huffs at him. “Yeah, screw you,” he grumbles, but then he’s sitting up straight, eyes fixed on the door, and Dean turns his attention there in time to spot Marshall coming in. He glances around for a moment before his eyes land on Sam and a smile brightens his face. 

Soon he’s sitting down across from Sam, and Dean ends up tuning out most of their conversation. All he knows is that they’re getting along well enough, and Sam’s laughing and Marshall looks happy and Dean doesn’t like it one bit. He doesn’t interfere, though, distinctly remembers how upset his brother had been last time he ruined a relationship like this one. They’re in public, too, and he doesn’t want Sam to get in trouble. So he stays quiet, tries to keep his mental sulking to a minimum, and watches them interact.

Before he knows it, they’re standing, seem to be saying goodbye, and Marshall dares to press a quick kiss to Sam’s cheek before heading out. Sam seems startled, but there’s a little smile on his face as he leaves the coffee shop. He doesn’t even wait until they return to the motel to start talking.

“He was so _nice_ , Dean,” he whispers, careful to make sure that no one’s close enough to notice. “And- and he was funny, and he liked me, and- does this mean I’m gay?”

That starts an entirely different monologue from Sam, mumbling to himself on the way back until he’s sprawled out in bed, voice muffled in the pillow he’s buried his face in. “But I like girls,” he says, though it come out sounding more like “bike earls.” “But… Marshall…” He sighs, makes a frustrated sound. Dean does what he can to soothe his brother, and it seems to help a little. At the very least, Sam rolls over so he’s no longer smothering himself. “Maybe I just… like both.” And it sounds like such a huge revelation when he says it like that, though it sounds simple enough to Dean.

Sam eventually falls asleep like that, apparently satisfied with the conclusion he’s managed to come to, mumbling to himself right until the end. “Maybe I’ll… get to go out again…”

Dean isn’t sure how he feels about that, and files it away for later analysis.

-

As it turns out, Sam does go out with Marshall again- a few times, in fact, enough that they’re in some kind of tentative relationship, committed enough that Sam is genuinely upset when it’s time to move onto the next town. He knows as well as Dean does that there’s no point exchanging contact information, that even a long-distance friendship is impossible to maintain in the life they live. So they separate on good terms, Marshall kisses Sam goodbye, and then they’re off, on the road again, with John none the wiser to what’s happened with his son’s new relationship.

It doesn’t stop there, though. Now that Sam understands that he has an attraction to both sexes, it’s like his eyes have been opened, and he’s looking for guys, actively seeking someone to get together with wherever they settle down. He tells Dean that he’s _experimenting_ , that he wants to narrow down his type the way he’s already had a couple years to do with girls. It doesn’t take long for patterns to start to appear.

It’s blonds, first. Dirty blond, short hair, for the most part, some guys who spike it up with gel. The eyes come next, a dozen different shades of green. Sam never seems to be quite satisfied with them, wonders aloud to his brother about how he can’t figure out what’s bothering him about it. Freckles start making more and more appearances, too, after a while, and even when Sam has such specific criteria for the type of guy he likes, he never seems to be completely happy with whoever he ends up with.

If nothing else, it’s an educational time period for Sam, when he learns a lot about himself and his preferences. Dean watches quietly, offers support when his brother needs it and disapproval when he feels it. He doesn’t think about the twisting, unpleasant feeling that he refuses to identify as jealousy.

\--

It seems that the older Sam gets, the more opinions he has- and, to a greater extent, the more he feels free to voice them. He’s growing up to be stubborn, defiant, rebellious, and it’s a constantly growing source of conflict between him and his father. Their personalities clash too much to live peacefully anymore. Dean hates to watch them fight, but it’s getting more common by the day. They argue about moving, about hunting, about research and school and everything in between, because the more Sam sees of the world, the more he craves something more- something average, something _normal_.

Sometimes, it’s like they fight just for the sake of fighting. The conflict starts small, someone snaps at someone else, and eventually it starts to escalate, gets out of control and messy and hurtful as they exchange actual problems for events that have long since passed.

Now appears to be one of those times. It pains Dean to watch as they each get increasingly upset, throw words at each other like they’re trying to do physical damage. They’ve passed the point of reason, probably both forgotten about what they’re arguing about in the first place. Instead, they're talking about the fire.

“It was in _your_ nursery, Sam!” John snaps, doesn’t seem to know what to do with his arms as he gestures violently.

"You think I don't get it, Dad? I know that, I think about it every fucking day!" Sam's shouting, fists clenched. He's not small anymore, not like he used to be, just now starting to hit his growth spurt, but their father is a stocky wall of muscle who still makes him look tiny. “Hell, it was probably there for _me_ , but she’s the one who died instead.”

It's not often that the fights get this bad, but it's not anything new, either. Mary makes her way into the conversation when all logic has left, when John doesn't want to think about anything but hurting Sam, winning the fight. Usually Sam storms off, slams the motel door and leaves for a few hours while they both cool off.

This time is different.

"But you know what? She wasn't the only one." Sam's voice drops, is deadly quiet as he continues. "Mom isn't the only one who died that night, Dad."

John seems to be as shocked as Dean is. They don't talk about him, not the way they talk about Mary, almost like he's some kind of taboo. Sam talks _to_ him, of course, and John pretends not to hear, but he's never been brought into their arguments. John opens and closes his mouth several times in an attempt to reply, but Sam cuts him off before he gets the chance.

"And you can't pin that on me. Why do you think he went back in, huh? 'Cause I doubt it was to roast a damn marshmallow." Sam barely pauses to let John consider that before he pushes on, merciless. "He went back for _you_. Because you were taking too long and he- he got worried." His voice is a little choked at the end, and Dean's surprised and confused, because he’d never realized that Sam knew. "'Cause that's just how he is. But I- I don't get to have that. I don't get to have _him_ , because- because you were taking too long." He sounds broken, and he laughs, and it’s a little hysterical, and Dean decides that this has gone far enough.

It isn't often that he interferes with these fights, but when it gets to a point where he knows it's only going to end in pain for everyone involved if he doesn't, he does what little he can: he provides a distraction. 

John looks like he's on the verge of saying something, like he's choking on whatever words are caught in his throat, but Dean doesn't give him a chance to speak. He flings an abandoned coffee mug- it's old and chipped and something that no one will miss- off a table and into a wall, causing it to shatter on impact. As expected, his brother and father both jump, but it's Sam's eyes that widen a little in understanding. 

"Dean," he whispers, eyes flitting around like his big brother is just out of sight. He's quiet for a moment, back turned to John and chewing his lower lip. He swallows thickly, then turns on his heel to head towards the door. "Don't wait up for me," he mutters, the words directed at John this time, and is out of the room before their father has a chance to reply. Dean only gets a brief glimpse of John's shell-shocked expression before he's tugged along to go with Sam.

His brother is silent for several minutes, walking nowhere in particular, it seems, until suddenly they're at some local park and no one's there because, Dean realizes suddenly, it's actually pretty cold out, snow on the ground, and all he can think about is how Sam isn't wearing a jacket. Whatever protest he might've been able to raise is cut off when Sam speaks.

"That's what happened, right?" he asks, voice quiet and vulnerable. "At the fire. Because... you got me out. So you must've gone back in."

Dean's response is quiet resignation, which Sam seems to accept as agreement.

"So it- it was because you were trying to help them." And now his brother sounds like he's on the verge of tears, and Dean hates himself a little because it's his fault. "You... you died because..." He can't make it any further, and suddenly he's collapsing in the snow, on his hands and knees, and he's crying, chest heaving with sobs, and there's absolutely nothing Dean can do about it.

He wishes now, more than anything, that there was.

\--

Sam starts to spend more and more time drawing Dean as he grows up, seems to use it as a way to calm himself whenever he fights with his father. He has a few sketchbooks now, has never once thrown out a single one of the drawings- he still owns the small box from preschool, the finger painted portrait of his brother he’d made all those years ago. He’s gotten better since then, draws Dean in photo-realism in graphite and coloured pencils. But never, not once, has he shown any of the pictures to his father.

Dean isn’t quite sure why his brother’s decided to keep the drawings to himself, in that he can’t pinpoint which of many reasons had been the one that made up Sam’s mind. There’s John’s apparent determination to ignore Dean’s existence, the way he reacts whenever his eldest is brought up in conversation, the fact that he thinks drawing, in and of itself, is a waste of time. 

Sam’s fifteen the first time he makes the conscious decision to share his brother with John.

-

John sees Sam drawing constantly- when he should be researching, when he should be cleaning the guns, when he should be doing _something_ that’s actually productive- but he doesn't learn what, exactly, his son's been drawing for a very long time. Sam is very careful about tucking away each and every drawing in a little box he keeps in his duffel, makes sure that his sketchbooks are all buried underneath everything else in his bag. He tries not to be curious, reminds himself that Sam really shouldn’t have time to draw in the first place, period, but he can’t help but wonder what the boy’s being so secretive about.

It’s because of this secrecy, the built-up curiosity, that John can't help the way his eyes widen when he sees one drawing, forgotten or lost, sitting on the motel’s desk one afternoon. Sam’s at school, won’t be home for a couple hours, and he knows this is probably the only chance he’s ever going to get to find out what his son’s been drawing all these years. He picks it up gingerly and stares.

There's a young man looking up at him- looks older than Sam, but still a teenager, with broad shoulders and a leather jacket and green eyes. It isn't the freckles or the amulet around his neck or even the realization that _Jesus_ , Sam knows what he’s doing that really catches John's attention, though. It's the boy's striking, painful resemblance to Mary.

There's no question in his mind that this is a drawing of Dean.

It takes a long moment for John to remember how to breathe normally, to get control over the tightness in his chest and remind himself that Dean is _dead_ , that whatever Sam’s got going on with whatever part of his brother lingers is none of his concern. That seeing his eldest for the first time in fifteen years, brought to life on the paper in his hands, shouldn’t make his eyes burn, shouldn’t make him need to blink away tears.

Sam doesn't say anything when John returns the picture to him later, doesn't comment when his father sits quietly by himself for the rest of the night.

They don't fight for a long time after that.

\--

By the time Sam turns sixteen, John’s spending more and more time away, apparently convinced that his son is old enough to take care of himself. He always leaves money- for food for the motel, for whatever else Sam might find it in himself to need- but as the days go by, as John’s gone longer, Sam often finds his funds running dangerously low. Usually his father returns just in time and then they’re off again, but this time in particular, in Pennsylvania while John hunts a small coven of witches a couple towns away, it seems like help isn’t going to come in time.

Sam’s down to just enough money to get him through breakfast tomorrow, if he sticks to toast, and last he heard from his father, there were a few days left in the hunt, at the very least. He’s going to have to pay for an extra couple days at the room, and in short, he’s screwed. Dean wishes he could help, but the most he can do is distract the motel’s manager a couple times to hold off that particular payment. He’s going to need food, though, and Dean’s ability to possess people seems, so far, to be limited by a person’s willpower, the mental stability and control they have at any given moment. It’s not something he’s used often, but his control seems to weaken the longer he has it, and he wonders if he’s ever going to grow out of that.

The lack of other options is how, that night, Sam end up at a local dive, the sort of bar that didn’t care quite enough to look too close at his fake ID. Dean’s ready to interfere if he has to, but it seems like his concerns are unwarranted. As curious as he is, his brother refuses to tell him what he plans to do here, so he’s forced to wait quietly, to watch as Sam sits by the bar, picks a relatively isolated stool and settles down.

As Dean tries to sort out what Sam thinks he’s doing, he takes note of the way a couple patrons are eyeing his brother, the sorts of looks he’s drawing with his nicest jeans, the slightly too small shirt he has on, and Dean suddenly has a sinking feeling that he knows exactly what’s going on. 

The way Sam looks down at the counter, swallows hard and visibly steels himself only confirms it further. 

Dean doesn’t even think, already throwing all sorts of disapproval, of _what the fuck do you think you’re doing_ at his brother. Sam actually winces, it hits him so hard, and Dean feels a little bad, tries to tone it down, but can’t stop it completely, doesn’t want to. He wants Sam to actually _think_ about this, to figure out something else, but Sam cuts him off.

“I don’t have another option,” he whispers, glances around to make sure no one’s close enough to hear him, to think he’s insane. “I just- I need money, De. And- I mean, you’re here to keep me safe, right?” He smiles a little weakly, and Dean doesn’t know how to respond, because _of course_ he is, but this doesn’t seem like a good idea all the same. 

Before he can formulate a response, though, there’s a man casually taking the seat next to Sam, offering him a smile that makes Dean uncomfortable on his brother’s behalf. “What’re you doin’ out here all alone?” he asks, gives Sam a slow once-over, and Dean’s pretty sure that Sam pales a little bit. He sits up a little straighter, though, returns the smile as best he can. 

“Killing time,” Sam replies, and Dean can’t help but be a little impressed when his brother’s voice come out steady. He turns to face the man properly, tilting his head to the side. “How about you?”

“Just wanted to come say hi,” the man replies, eyes finally returning to Sam’s face. “Y’know,” he continues, voice dropping to a murmur as he leans closer, and if there had been any miscommunication about his intentions, it’s gone now, “you’ve got a real nice mouth on you.” And before Sam can even try to form a response, he’s continuing, something of a leer on his face. “Bet talking ain’t the only think it’s good for.”

And there it is, the come-on that Sam seems to have been waiting for. He manages to smile again, leans into the bar in a sort of forced casualness that Dean’s positive no one else is able to pick up on. He can see the tension in his brother’s shoulders, though, the way his smile is a little shaky around the edges. Sam’s scared, probably freaking out on the inside, but he’s hiding it. Hiding it well, too; Dean has the bitter thought that their father would be proud. 

Sam leans in an inch closer, pretends to consider his response before speaking. “How much for my mouth?” he asks, licks his lips in what Dean knows is a deliberate move. He doesn’t know where his brother’s picked this up, can’t imagine how he came up with this plan in the first place, but the man is responding before he can think about it much harder.

“Fifty,” the man decides, “just ‘cause I’m feelin’ generous.” He doesn’t wait for Sam’s response before he’s standing, jerking his chin towards the men’s bathroom near the back. “C’mon, kid, I don’t have all night.” He turning and heading there without waiting for a response, and Sam swallows hard as he slides off his stool.

“Don’t freak out, okay?” he whispers, and Dean knows the words are for him. “I need to do this. Please, just… keep an eye out for anyone trying to come in or whatever.”

Before Dean can formulate any semblance of a response, Sam’s walking, following the man at a slight distance towards the men’s washroom and slipping in behind him. 

It’s empty, thankfully, save for the man Sam had spoken to, and he takes a moment to lock the door behind him before slowly walking over. The man’s leaning against a wall casually, already starting to unbutton his jeans. The zipper goes down soon after, and then the man’s pulling out his cock and Sam’s eyes are going wide and he’s more than a little pale and Dean wants so, so badly to intervene. He doesn’t, though, as much as it pains him, just does what Sam’s asked and watches, keeps his attention more on his brother than the door. 

“On your knees,” the man’s saying, and Sam looks a little terrified, but he moves closer and complies, steadies himself with a hand braced again the man’s knee. Before he really has time to get ready, to prepare himself, the man has a grip on his jaw, squeezes just tight enough to get him to open his mouth. Sam barely has time to take a deep breath before the man is pushing in past his lips, and it’s the first time Sam’s ever given a blowjob and it isn’t anything like he might’ve imagined it to be.

It’s messy, especially to start, and Sam seems to be struggling with breathing and sucking the guy off at the same time, a bit of saliva escaping his mouth as the man starts rocking his hips shallowly. Dean almost can’t bear to watch but he’s not about to turn away, either, tries desperately to offer whatever semblance of comfort he can manage. Somehow, it only seems to upset Sam more, because he squeezes his eyes shut tight and continues.

The man’s panting, obviously enjoying himself, and Dean wants nothing more than to slam his head against the wall until there’s nothing left but a bloody lump at the end of his neck, and it’s taking most of his self-control not to. Suddenly the guy’s reaching down, getting his fingers in Sam’s hair and gripping tight to take more control, and Sam chokes a little but presses on, even as his eyes start to tear up. But then he’s pulling Sam off, yanking him to his feet by the hair, and Dean doesn’t know what’s going on, but he’s got a bad feeling about it.

The guy’s free hand goes to the front of Sam’s jeans, and Sam jumps back like he’s been electrocuted. “Off,” the man growls, yanks him close again.

Sam’s eyes go wide, and he doesn’t seem to know what to say for several seconds. “What?” he manages a moment later, voice a little hoarse from the cock that’d been jammed down his throat. 

“Pants. Take ‘em off,” the man says again, and Sam’s about to interrupt when he continues. “Gonna fuck you. I’ll give you an extra fifty if you’re nice about it.”

“That- that wasn’t part of the deal,” Sam stammers out, starting to look panicked. Dean watches with concern, urges his brother to leave as best he’s able. “I- I’m gonna go, I think, it’s- it’s okay, you can keep the money-”

Before Sam can finish the sentence, the man is spinning him around, slamming him chest-first into the wall he himself had just been against. He leans in close, alcohol on his breath as he whispers in Sam’s ear. “But I guess if you’re gonna be difficult, I could just not pay you at all and go ahead and fuck you anyways.”

He barely has the chance to reach around and start working at the button on Sam’s jeans before he’s yanked off, thrown across the room and hitting his head against the tile with a dull crack. He doesn’t move when he hits the ground, and Dean turns his attention to his brother, keeps what he’s identified as bloodlust under wraps for now.

Sam’s leaning heavily into the wall, taking gasping breaths that border on sobs, wrapping his arms tight around himself as he slides down to the floor. “He-” He can’t quite seem to bring himself to finish the sentence, just buries his face in his knees and take a few deep breaths. He’s crying a moment later, alone on a dirty bathroom floor, and Dean does his best to urge his brother to his feet. Sam manages it a moment later, stands on shaky legs. He starts towards the door, eyes fixed straight ahead, and Dean realizes that he’s avoiding looking at the man’s limp form. 

Dean just barely remembers why they’re here in the first place, carefully floats the man’s wallet out of his jeans and sets it down in front of Sam. His brother chokes on a sob, even as he bends down to pick it up, hands shaking as he counts out the bills inside. 

Even as shaken as he looks, Sam manages to leave the bar without incident, walks quickly with his head down. He doesn’t sleep that night, barely even talks to Dean, and Dean does everything in his power to try to calm him down. It doesn’t work particularly well, but Sam’s sobs quiet, and his tears dry. Dean soothes the pain in his jaw and throat, vows to never let someone hurt Sam like that again, berates himself for letting it go so far in the first place. He just hopes he can make up for it later.

-

Their father ends up returning the day after next, having finished up his hunt earlier than anticipated. Sam won’t quite look him in the eye for the next little while, but they move on without incident. It’s not long after that that Sam picks up poker, pool, a number of different cons that he uses to gather emergency cash. Dean’s more than ready to help him cheat, gives his brother the upper hand against more experienced players. It’s the least he can do, especially if Sam never gets in such a bad situation again.

\--

Ever since the incident at the bar, Sam’s been avoiding other guys in a romantic sense. Dean notices the way his brother’s eyes still linger sometimes, but he’s avoided asking any of them out, always turns them down if they ask him. Frankly, Dean can’t blame him- a tiny, possessive part of him couldn’t be happier- but he knows Sam well enough to know that his brother is getting lonely.

So when Sam meets a girl he likes at sixteen years old, Dean can’t help but be a little relieved.

He doesn’t meet her at first, exactly. It’s more of an infatuation-at-first-sight kind of situation, but Sam seems hooked all the same. It’s in the town’s library, when he’s hunkered down looking for more information on what John’s hunting- something Sam’s managed to identify as a kitsune- that he spots her, a couple tables down. The girl has white-blonde hair, twisted into a loose braid, and she seems absorbed in whatever she’s doing.

Sam doesn’t say anything, but Dean recognizes the way his brother’s eyes widen a little, the way he swallows. It’s not so much scared as is nervous, and he glances around before refocusing on his books.

It’s not for a little while that he bumps into her again, when he’s searching the shelves for more of the lore he’s looking for. He catches the girl’s eye between the rows, and looks away before it gets awkward. Dean thinks it’s pretty cute, how flustered his brother’s getting, and soothes him as best he can. 

Eventually, after a brief phone conversation where Sam- loudly- explains to his father that the best way to kill a kitsune is to stab it in the heart, Sam seems to work up the ambition to finally approach her. Dean encourages him, happy to see him interested in someone for the first time in a while. 

“I, uh…” Sam sounds nervous, stutters a little, and the girl doesn’t even look up at first. “I just wanted to say hi-”

“No.” She does look up, then, cuts him off. Dean’s a little annoyed by her curtness, and Sam seems a little hurt, and it must show on face because she seems to soften a little. “Sorry, it’s just… I’m not supposed to talk to boys.”

That ends the conversation, and Sam makes his way back to the table he’s been working at a somewhat defeated hunch to his shoulders. He doesn’t stay long, though, packs up and returns each book to its place before heading out. He’s got all the information he needs to help their father with the hunt, so he’s ready to head back to the motel, to settle down and do his actual homework.

When he leaves the library, starts to head out, Dean notices the girl from before. She’s leaving, too, and he wouldn’t have noticed at all if it weren’t for the two guys who gesture to her and nudge each other before starting after her.

Even if she might’ve been a little short with Sam, Dean doesn’t intend to stand by while someone might get hurt, so he takes hold of their bond with a practiced ease and shows his brother what he’s seeing, tries to convey a sense of urgency. Sam doesn’t so much as falter in his stride, turns on his heel to head after the three. “Thanks, Dean,” he murmurs, shoulders his bag properly as he picks up his pace.

They catch up right when the guys are cornering her against a tree, shoving her a little. “Aw, why don’t you be nice?” one of them sneers, leans in close.

Sam doesn’t hesitate before stepping into sight. “Why don’t you?” he asks, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. He’s standing casually, but there’s a tenseness to his posture that Dean recognizes from training; Sam’s on his toes, metaphorically, ready to fight if it comes to that. 

The guys turn, look him over and don’t seem terribly impressed. The girl’s eyes widen a bit in recognition. “We’re kinda busy here,” one of them says, and then they’re turning away, one of them muttering something about Sam being a dick. 

“Leave her alone,” Sam says, and there’s nothing casual about his voice now. He’s straightened up, and though the other two guys are still bigger than him, there’s something icy in his gaze that Dean thinks makes it obvious who’s going to win the confrontation. Apparently, the other two don’t pick up on this, because they’re rolling their eyes at each other and turning, starting towards Sam.

Even if Sam isn’t a hunter in the same sense that his father is, he knows his way around hand-to-hand combat, and he hits the first guy with a solid right hook before either of them can touch him, and the guy goes down hard. Sam takes a hit while he’s recovering, barely even staggers before he’s taking the second guy out. 

The fight barely lasts a minute, and then the guys are retreating and Sam’s turning to the girl, offers her a bit of a smile. “I’m Sam,” he greets, settles into a more casual stance.

The girl looks a little surprised, but smiles at him all the same. “Amy,” she returns. “You want me to clean that up for you?” she asks, gestures at Sam’s face. 

Dean’s pretty sure his brother’s going to have a decent shiner tomorrow morning, the bruise already forming. Sam reaches up to touch it, seems surprised. “Oh. Uh- yeah, sure,” he replies, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

That’s how Sam meets Amy Pond, and it’s not until he feels the slight charge in the air around her, notices the odd gleam to her eyes that Dean starts to distrust her.

-

Amy takes Sam back to her house, sits him on the couch while she presses a cold can of pop to his bruise. They talk, she asks about his fighting skill. He deflects with a practiced ease, and they move onto safer topics. They learn they attend the same school, that they both move around a lot, that their parents are both short-tempered. The whole time, Dean can’t get rid of a feeling of uneasiness, something that makes him anxious, makes him want to leave. He can see when it starts irritating Sam, and tries to convince himself that nothing’s wrong. It doesn’t work.

When Sam finally leaves, when they finally make it back to the motel, he’s quick to address the issue. “What the hell was that?” he asks, looks around without direction as he kicks his shoes off. “Seriously, you seemed twitchy as hell back there. Somethin’ wrong?”

Dean can’t quite convey what he’d felt, respond by trying to replicate the feeling of unease that’d consumed him at Amy’s house. It just makes Sam raise an eyebrow, apparently confused. “What, something about Amy’s place bother you?” he asks. He doesn’t wait for a reply, brow furrowing as something seems to occur to him. “You’re not- you’re not _jealous_ , are you?” He isn’t bothered to wait for Dean’s response, making a frustrated sound. “That was cute when I was a little kid, Dean, now it’s just-” He sighs, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. Dean’s a little offended that his brother’s assuming he’s so petty as to try and push his jealousy on him, but he realizes that Sam has every right. It’s not like he hasn’t done it in the past.

“Just- lay off, okay?” he says with a bit of a scowl. “We’re just friends, anyways.” 

Dean’s pretty sure that, if his brother has any say in it, they’re going to be a lot more than friends, but he doesn’t respond, choosing instead to remain quiet and still. It satisfies Sam, apparently, because he nods and goes about his usual routine. 

Dean doesn’t know what it is about Amy that bothers him, but he tells himself it can wait until he’s got something solid to show his brother. For now, he doesn’t want to upset Sam, so he isn’t going to interfere. Not if he doesn’t have to.

-

Over the next couple weeks, Amy and Sam start getting closer as friends, and it’s seventeen days after they meet when they kiss for the first time. It’s sudden, it’s mutual, and then there’s a sort of silent agreement that they aren’t so much friends anymore as they are an _item_ , even if they don’t broadcast it.

Sam hasn’t been to Amy’s house since the first time they met, and Amy hasn’t been to the motel. Neither Amy’s mysterious mother nor John seem to have any interest in making an appearance. 

Dean still has no reason in particular to dislike Amy. And he knows he shouldn’t; she’s nice to Sam, she’s smart, she’s funny. She isn’t bothered by Sam’s quirks, the fact that he lives in a motel room and has a father who’s never home, a mother he doesn’t talk about. She’s probably good for him, even, gives him someone to talk to who’s actually physically present. They can relate to each other, they make each other happy, and there’s absolutely nothing Dean can see in her that should cause the kind of gut reaction he has.

At least, he doesn’t until they visit her home again.

It’s just like the first time, except now they actually know each other and Sam’s eye isn’t swelling up. He’s on the couch while she heads to the kitchen to grab drinks for both of them. Dean’s been keeping a closer eye on Amy recently, trying to find something, _anything_ , that could justify his concern. So, he decides to follow her into the kitchen. It isn’t hard, thanks to the setup of the house, so he doesn’t actually have to go too far from Sam to watch her while she opens the fridge. 

He’s glad he goes, because to grab the can of coke near the back of the middle shelf, Amy has to reach back between a pair of jarred human brains. 

Dean almost doesn’t process it at first, doesn’t know what to think. Wonders if he’s seeing things, if he’s imagining them, if they’re just something else entirely. But when he gets closer, there’s no mistaking the shape, the colour. 

It’s probably Dean’s rush of panic that sends Sam to his feet in the other room.

Amy must notice, because she turns to look, frowns a bit as she closes the fridge. “Sam? You okay?” she asks, stepping back into the living room. 

Sam’s already grabbing his jacket, gives Amy an apologetic look. “Sorry, I just- got a text from my dad,” he lies, because their father barely knows how to use a laptop, let alone text on his ancient cell, “I have to go, I’m really sorry-”

Amy cuts him off, closes the distance between them and presses a quick kiss to his lips. All Dean can think about is whether or not she’s eaten any brains recently, and it makes him feel a little sick. “It’s fine,” she insists, smiling a little bit. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Sam looks relieved, manages to return the smile. “Yeah, for sure. Thanks, Amy.”

With that, he heads out, makes it to the end of her driveway before he’s whispering furiously to Dean. “What was that?” he hissed, doesn’t sound quite as angry as he does concerned. “Thought you were having a heart attack or something. What happened?”

And Dean doesn’t know what to do. He can’t tell Sam what he saw, can’t really mime it out, so he decides to test something he hasn’t had a chance to yet. He grasps at their bond the way he does when he’s sharing his vision, and once Sam slows down, he focuses intently on the memory of what he’d seen, the inside of the fridge, Amy reaching inside. The brains.

Sam’s quiet for a long moment, doesn’t speak when Dean gives him his own vision back. He starts walking slowly, and Dean’s starting to get a little worried. He doesn’t say a word all the way back to the motel, but there’s a kind of energy building around him, and Dean doesn’t know what to expect until his brother closes the motel room’s door behind him and abruptly explodes.

“Are you for real, Dean?” he demands, whirls around like Dean’s behind him. He can’t seem to decide where to look, just glares at nothing in particular as he continued. “That’s where we are now? Making shit up so I can’t have a relationship?” Sam snorts, and it takes several seconds for Dean to understand what he means. His brother thinks he’s _lying_ , that he’d somehow fabricated the image to force Sam to end his relationship with Amy. He can’t help but feel a little hurt.

Sam doesn’t seem to like that, just rolls his eyes. “Right, okay, sorry for hurting your feelings,” he says, obviously annoyed. “You know what? I really like Amy, and I don’t care if you’ve got some- some vendetta against her. Or anyone I’m friends with, for that matter. I’m not yours, Dean, I can have a relationship with whoever I want!” 

Dean isn’t sure which part of this is the worst- that Sam doesn’t trust him, that Sam’s angry. That Sam’s so easily dismissing the claim Dean has on him. Regardless, it hurts, and Dean doesn’t respond, lets himself go quiet and still. 

Sam scowls, flops down on the bed. “Yeah, whatever,” he mutters, finding himself a book to flip through.

If Sam doesn’t want his input, doesn’t want to listen to his concern, then Dean isn’t going to force it on him. He’s prepared to watch quietly, to step in only once Sam’s actually, immediately in danger.

-

It doesn’t take very long for Amy’s true nature- whatever it may be- to be revealed.

Sam’s hanging out at her house again, in the evening, and they’re sitting together on the couch, talking about anything and everything. The conversation’s taken something of a darker turn, and they’re talking more about their parents, the lives they lead. 

“I hate it,” Sam’s saying, looking away. “Moving around all the time- you’re always the new kid. Everyone always thinks you’re a freak.”

Dean knows it isn’t just the moving that makes Sam feel like a freak. It’s the whole life, how _different_ he is from everyone else. The older he gets, the more he seems to crave a normal life, and the more their father tries to convince him that it’s never going to happen.

Amy puts a hand on Sam’s knee, squeezing gently. “You are a freak, Sam,” she says sincerely, and Sam almost looks offended before she continues. “So am I. So was Picasso, so was Stoker. All the best people are freaks.” She sounds so genuine about it, and Sam manages to smile a little.

But then there’s the sound of a car pulling into the gravel driveway, and Amy goes pale, standing and tugging Sam to his feet with her. “Hide,” she whispers, and Sam tries to stutter out a response, but then he’s being led into the closet, and she closes it on him before turning to face the front door.

Dean’s just as confused as his brother is, but it starts to make a little more sense when an older woman with Amy’s hair and almost sunken features walks in, looks frantic.

“They caught up,” she says, walks right past Amy to the fridge, starts pulling out a couple jars. Dean knows what’s in them, but there’s no way Sam can see through the narrow slats in the closet. 

“Wait, Mom-” Amy says, sounds confused as she turns to watch the woman- her mother- move. “Who caught up?”

“Some guy in a piece of crap Impala,” she replies, and Dean can see the exact moment when Sam comes to the realization that he was right. He carefully slides his knife out of his back pocket, holds in in front of him in slightly shaky hands. “We’ve got to go. Now.” Then she turns, starts towards the closet, and Dean’s tensing, ready for a fight, and Sam doesn’t quite seem to know what to do with himself-

“No,” Amy says abruptly, and her mother pauses, turns towards her with a frown. “You- you go gas up the car,” she says, offers a weak smile. “I’ll pack.”

Amy’s mother is silent for a long moment before smiling again, something sickeningly sweet in the expression. “Good girl,” she praises, and turns to leave the house.

Once she’s outside, Amy hurries to the closet, letting Sam out. Sam hides his knife, but there’s hesitation in his eyes as he follows her out. “You have to go, now,” she insists, trying to urge Sam out. He doesn’t move, though, and she seems to panic a little. “Sam!” she says frantically, gestures towards the back door. “ _Go._ ”

Sam turns, then, sees a jar that’d been abandoned on the table. His eyes go wide, and he looks at Amy. “What the hell is that?” he demands, gesturing to the jar.

Amy follows his gaze and goes pale. “It’s- it’s not what it looks like, it’s just-”

“You’re a monster,” he interrupts her, stepping backwards and pulling out his knife again. He looks angry, now, and Dean isn’t sure who it’s supposed to be directed at. 

“Sam?” she asks, and she looks frightened now, looks down at the knife. “What are you-?”

“That’s my dad in the Impala,” he interrupts, holding his knife in front of him. He isn’t shaking anymore.

“You’re a hunter?” It doesn’t sound too much like a question. “You’re supposed to kill me?” Amy swallows hard, backs up a step. “And I’m supposed to kill you?”

Some of the fight seems to go out of Sam, but he doesn’t lower his weapon any. “Yeah, guess so,” he murmurs. 

“I’ve never killed anyone, Sam,” Amy says softly, holds her hands out in front of her in a way Dean knows is supposed to be placating. “Please, I just- I’ve never hurt anyone. I don’t _want_ to hurt anyone. You can go, we- we’ll leave. Please, Sam.”

Sam seems to hesitate for a long moment, but then he lowers the knife, turns to put it away in his backpack. “Alright,” he says, obviously hesitant. He goes to put his bag on, but suddenly the door’s flying open and Amy’s mother’s back and then she’s got her hand fisted in the back of Sam’s shirt, a triumphant look in her eyes.

“Knew you were hiding something,” she sneers. “Always throw a little bitchfit before leaving. Agreeing to go with no fuss?” She snorts, yanks Sam a little closer. 

“Mom, please,” Amy begs, steps closer. “He’s my friend-”

“What have I told you?” her mother demands. “You can’t _have_ friends, Amy. This boy is _food_.”

Amy steps forward then, reaches for Sam, but her mother backhands her so hard she goes down. Dean’s attention is mostly on his brother, on how to get Sam out before the kitsune- because that’s what Amy’s mother is, the thing their father’s been hunting this whole time- can hurt him, but he doesn’t miss it. Between the two of them, it isn’t hard to decide who he should go after.

While she’s distracted, Dean gets Sam’s bag open again, finds the knife. He doesn’t hesitate before he’s picking it up and ramming it straight into Amy’s mother’s back, and she seems stunned for a moment as blood starts welling up in the front of her shirt.

Amy takes her opportunity to stand, to yank Sam away from her mother as she falls, and then she’s bleeding out on the floor and the two teenagers are standing together quietly and watching. 

“You… was that…?” Amy whispers, and Dean realizes abruptly that she’d seen the whole thing. He wonders what she thinks, and then Sam’s smiling wryly. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Told you I was a freak,” he murmurs, doesn’t bother explaining any further than that. “You have to go. My dad’s gonna be here soon, and he’s gonna kill you. You have cash?”

Amy nods, looks a little thrown. “Yeah, but- but what about-?” She gestures to her mother.

“I’ll deal with it,” he assures her. “Go.”

She nods again, looks like she’s considering pressing one last kiss to his lips before deciding against it. She gives him one last long look before hurrying away, and within a minute she’s gone. 

Sam’s quiet for a long moment, just staring at the body at his feet. Eventually he works up the ambition to move, and goes to find himself something to douse the body in.

There’s kerosene in the shed, and he burns the body with the same quick efficiency his father has always taught him. He wipes his prints from the house, and heads back to the motel reeking of smoke. He takes a shower, still hasn’t said a word since seeing Amy off. He doesn’t speak until he’s in bed.

It’s not that Dean intends to let out a bit of _I told you so_ , it’s just that it’s been a long day and he’s tired and it’s harder to keep his emotions under wraps. Whatever effort he makes, apparently it isn’t enough.

“I’m not in the fucking mood, Dean.” Sam sounds tired, but then he sits up, looks around with a bit of a glare. “Congratulations. You were right, my girlfriend was a monster. Good for you. I hope you’re fucking happy.”

Dean doesn’t know how to respond to that, and Sam seems to take his confusion as a green light to continue. “She made me happy, you know. Like- like actually _happy_ , Dean. I liked her a lot.” He rubs at his face roughly, takes a deep breath before continuing. “Y’know, sometimes I wish you weren’t here,” he says quietly, and Dean feels something in him go cold. “It’s like- as if I’m not enough of a freak already, right?” He laughs, but there’s no humour in the sound. “Amy might’ve been a freak, but so am I. And that’s on you, Dean.”

It hurts even worse because Dean knows his brother is right. 

“I mean- I’ve got this- this _thing_ attached to me, and you- you mess with me, and you fuck up my relationships, and- and I can’t have normal, Dean. Not with you here.”

That’s the last straw, and Dean decides he’s going to do something about this. He’s going to relieve Sam of the burden of his existence. He’s going to leave.

He doesn’t wait for Sam to say anything else, just turns and… goes. It’s easy at first, like it always is, and he leaves the motel room. He heads across the parking lot, and that’s when he starts feeling a bit of a tug. He’s never tested the bounds of their connection to this extent, not since the shtriga, but he needs to get away. He’s nothing but trouble for his brother, and he doesn’t want to be the cause of that pain anymore.

By the time he reaches the far side of the road, it’s getting more difficult. His vision is a little blurred, and it takes a lot of self-control to keep going.

There isn’t really a specific marker for when the pain starts, but suddenly it feels like Dean’s being torn in half and he knows, somehow, instinctively, that Sam feels it, too.

He stops pushing, and then he’s flung back to the room, like he’d been on a taut elastic, and it takes him a long moment to recover. When he becomes aware of his surroundings again, he notices Sam on the bed, clutching his head, brow furrowed as he takes a deep breath.

Dean hates himself a little more when he realizes that even when he tries to help Sam, to give him what he wants, all he’s managed to do is hurt his brother more.

He can’t think past it, can’t believe he’d fucked up something so simple, and then Sam’s looking up, something like concern and then shame spreading across his face. 

“Oh, God, Dean,” he whispers, and Dean can’t understand why he sounds so upset. “You- fuck, I’m so sorry, this isn’t your fault. I… I know you didn’t ask for this. I shouldn't be blaming you, I…” He swallows hard, looks down at his hands where they sit in his lap. “You’re basically all I’ve got,” he says quietly. “I just… I wish we didn’t have to do this.”

Dean isn’t angry, isn’t upset with his brother at all, and is quick to reassure him of the fact. He surrounds Sam with all the love, all the warmth he can gather, and then Sam’s choking on a sob.

“I’m sorry,” he manages again, rubbing at his eyes. “I love you. Don’t go, Dean.”

As long as Sam wants him around, Dean has no intention of going anywhere.

_\--_

The older Sam gets, the more trouble he seems to land himself in. The first time someone puts out a hit on him, he’s seventeen years old and alone for a weekend in some cabin that John’s borrowing from one of his hunting buddies. 

He doesn’t even go outside; it’s too cold, and Sam’s too content to stay where he is, curled up in front of the fire with a book. It’s the calmest he’s been in a while, getting to take a break from the grungy motel rooms for a while.

Dean doesn’t notice the man outside until it’s almost too late. He’s good, hides in the shadows outside the window so he can see Sam, but it’s almost impossible for Sam to see him unless he knows what to look for. 

By the time Dean notices the gun, the man’s already pulling the trigger, and Dean barely has time to tilt its angle, to lead it off to the side towards the brick mantle so it doesn’t hit his brother.

Sam’s obviously surprised, but he doesn’t let it faze him, rolls off the couch onto the floor so there’s something between him and the window. “Dean,” he hisses, and he doesn’t need to say anything more.

Dean’s outside within the next second, where the man’s cursing under his breath and reloading his gun, standing to head for the door. Dean doesn’t hesitate, grabs a log off the wood pile and clobbers the man with it. He goes down hard, unconscious, and Dean shows Sam the image before returning.

Sam stands slowly, book abandoned on the floor. “Thanks,” he murmurs, moving to inspect the dent the bullet had left in the brick before heading outside. He doesn’t bother grabbing a coat, shivers as he approaches the man. 

He’s still down, but starting to come to, groaning and rolling over. Sam’s quick to disarm him, pats him down and finds a knife before straightening up again. He waits patiently while the man wakes up, the gun levelled at his head. Once the man blinks his eyes open, looks up at Sam blearily, he starts to speak.

“Leave. Don’t come back, because this is the only warning you’re going to get.” Sam’s voice is surprisingly steady, as if he deals with would-be-assassins all the time. “I don’t care who sent you, but make sure they know that the next one who tries won’t be so lucky.”

The man doesn’t even bother nodding before scrambling to his feet, watching Sam warily as he heads for the forest, starts running once he’s far enough.

Sam sighs heavily, lets his arm drop to his side. “People suck,” he mutters, turning to head back inside. “I think I like just having you around, instead.”

Dean makes sure Sam can feel his approval, how proud he is, and Sam smiles to himself as he settles down on the couch again, taking a moment to find where he’d left off. He starts reading again, and doesn’t seem particularly bothered that someone had just tried to kill him. It’s the first time someone’s been so direct about it, but Dean doubts it’s going to be the last.

\--

At seventeen, Sam’s trusted enough by Ellen to leave him to watch over the bar while she and Jo go on a supply run, so he’s wiping down the counter, one eye on the patrons milling about. It’s early in the evening, after the dinner rush, but there’s still a sizeable crowd. Sam’s mostly responsible for keeping an eye on the till, serving drinks when he has to; Ash, another young man who works with the Harvelles, is in the back should Sam need any help with the bargoers starting to get rowdy.

It’s starting to seem like he’s going to have to grab Ash, after all, because a couple guys are starting to poke at him, sneering and asking how much he charges. Sam resolutely ignores them, comforts himself by glancing at the shotgun under the counter, and goes back to cleaning out a couple shot glasses.

It doesn’t get better, though. Soon there’s something of a crowd gathering, all men, all bigger than him, and Dean comes to the startling realization that he doesn’t recognize a single one of them. Most of the hunters who come by the Roadhouse are regulars who nod at Sam, say hi to him, even smile on occasion. These ones look dangerous, look ruthless and mean, and Dean wonders if they’ve ever even been here before.

“C’mon, don’t be rude,” one of them coos, leaning into the counter. “What, not gonna show us how special you are?”

That makes Sam look up, frown a little bit. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, but he sounds unsure.

A different man snorts, rolls his eyes. “Don’t play dumb,” he says, sounds like Sam’s personally offending him. “We know all about your _powers_ , kid. So what are you, then? Psychic?” Sam’s gone pale, and the man leans in close, sneers at him before continuing. “A demon?”

It’s something Sam hadn’t gotten since their father had tried to exorcise him when he was a kid, and he doesn’t seem like he knows how to respond. Dean’s getting nervous, notices just how many of the hunters are gathered. There isn’t a single friendly face in the crowd, and Sam’s grossly outnumbered. 

Sam seems to realize this, too, and he doesn’t seem intent on handling it by himself. “Ash,” he calls, voice shaky, not looking away from the crowd. There’s no response, and Sam swallows hard, shrinks back against the cabinets behind him as a couple of the men shift forward.

“Ain’t no one here’s gonna help you, kid,” one of them says, smiles in a way that makes Dean want to run and hide. He can’t, though, is determined to help his brother if he needs it. He focuses briefly on the shotgun to remind Sam that it’s there, but one of the men reaches over the counter and snatches it before he can move.

“What’s wrong? Psychic powers aren’t gonna protect you?” he taunts as he turns the gun on Sam. He flips the safety off, finger on the trigger. “’Cause you don’t have another option, buddy.”

“Dean, please,” Sam whispers, and Dean lets himself loose.

The man with the gun goes first, when it’s ripped out of his hands. He barely has time to look shocked before it’s turning on him and firing, sends him back into the man standing behind him. The crowd seems to try to scatter, but Dean isn’t about to give them that opportunity. Not when they’d threatened his baby brother.

He grabs onto one of the men, the one who looks the most terrified, manages to take control of his body. He picks up the shotgun and hits another three before turning it on himself, fires before vacating the body. Dean uses chairs, bottles, even cutlery as he works his way through the hunters, makes sure he locks the doors so there’s nowhere for them to run while he cuts them down.

Within minutes, the bar’s gone quiet, and the only living person still in the room is Sam. He’d sat down sometime during the slaughter, arms curled tight around his legs where they’re pulled in close. He looks like he’s trying to process what’s just happened, and a couple tears slip down his face silently. 

“Why can’t they just leave us alone?” he whispers. It’s a question that Sam never stops asking himself, and it’s a question that Dean still doesn’t have a good answer to.

-

Sam hasn’t moved by the time Ellen and Jo return. They’re stopped at the door and Dean’s quick to unlock it for them, and they head inside, Ellen stopping her daughter once they see the bodies.

“Jesus,” she breathes, then, louder, “Sam? You in here, honey?”

Dean knocks over a bottle on the bar’s counter, and Ellen seems to understand, picks her way through the bodies until she can get behind it. “Oh, Sam,” she murmurs, hurries to his side and starts to rub his back soothingly. “Was this- what happened?”

Sam swallows hard and turns to look at her. “It was- they were- they tried to-” He can’t seem to get out more than that, and Dean wonders if his brother’s gone into shock. 

“Did they try to hurt you?” Ellen asks seriously, and Sam manages to nod. “Did Dean protect you?” Sam nods again, and she seems to relax a little. “Thanks,” she murmurs, and Dean knows it’s directed at him. She stands, then, looks over at Jo. “Go check on Ash. He was supposed to be out here.” Jo nods, gives Sam a worried glance before heading for the back rooms.

Ellen manages to coax Sam to his feet with a little help from Dean, and he’s in a chair sipping at a glass of water by the time Jo returns, half- dragging Ash with her. He doesn’t look hurt, but his eyes are half-lidded, and his movements are sluggish. Ellen swears under her breath, heads over and checks his pulse.

“Shit,” she murmurs, helping Jo set him down in a chair. “Kid’s been roofied.”

It occurs to Dean, suddenly, that this must’ve been planned. No one was in the Roadhouse except the men involved and Sam. Ash, the only other line of defence, was taken out for the time being. They’d intended to get his brother alone, to rile him up, to show off whatever powers they thought he had.

Sam seems to come to the same conclusion, and he just cries harder.

Dean isn’t sure why the world is so unfair to his brother, but he hopes that, one day, there’ll be something he can do to stop it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I apologize for paraphrasing basically every flashback scene of _Girl Next Door._ I watched it recently, so the dialogue was stuck in my head. 
> 
> Anyways, classes are actually starting, so I've got no idea how long it'll take me to write the next part. Sorry in advanced if it's a while, but hopefully it's worth it?
> 
> As always, thanks for reading. I love all of you like... so much. It's ridiculous.


	6. Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You don’t need me.” It’s hard to decide whether John sounds uncaring or just tired. “Don’t bother coming back.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _When Sam slams the door behind him, it’s obvious that he doesn’t intend to._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there, again. It's kind of been a while, but hey, look how long this ended up! School's a bitch, but I'm pretty happy with how this came out. Covers Sam from eighteen to twenty-two, so have fun!
> 
> PS: again, please note the new tags, for possible triggers later in the chapter. Just a heads-up.
> 
> PPS: The biggest shout-out ever goes to Alice, who continues to be the best brainstormer/idea-maker/inspiration-person there is. In the whole world. Credit for a lot of the scenes with Jess can go to her. Bless you, friend.

Sam spends his eighteenth birthday in a cluttered old warehouse, on what John’s decided should be his first official hunt.

It’s not that he hasn’t helped with them in the past. Sam’s done research, done background checks, even gathered intel when the person they need to talk to would prefer to talk to a teenager than an older man. But for all the physical training he’s done, his practice with combat and firearms and any number of melee weapons, he’s never actually been involved in the hands-on, kill the monster part. 

Dean’s not sure he’s entirely on board with the whole thing- he really would rather his brother stay safe at home, out of the way of the shapeshifter they’re after- but if Sam’s going to be putting himself in the line of fire, then there’s nothing that’s going to stop Dean from acting as his brother’s personal guardian angel. He’s not going to let any harm come to Sam, if he can do absolutely anything to stop it.

It should be a simple enough hunt. Dean knows this, Sam knows this, and it’s not hard to imagine that their father knows it, as well. In terms of vulnerabilities, shapeshifters are pretty straightforward; both hunters have their guns loaded up with silver bullets and a silver knife on their person. A small cut will cause it pain, a more lethal hit will get the job done. It’s something Sam’s known for years, just as general knowledge, but this is the first time he’s going to get a chance to use it.

As far as respecting Sam’s skills goes, Dean has to give their father credit. John treats his son like a well-seasoned hunter, speaks to him seriously, doesn’t spare any of the gory details of how the whole thing’s going to go down- not that he ever really has, but this is the first time it’s going to be real. It’s the first time a mistake might get Sam killed instead of scolded, but it doesn’t seem to bother John in the least. He certainly doesn’t seem to think about it when he decides they’re going to split up, to cover more ground faster across the warehouse they’ve tracked the thing’s nest to.

While John heads to the right, completely silent and holding his gun like an extension of himself, Sam’s left to go the other way, careful and steady, though he winces every time he steps on broken glass that crunches under his boots, every time they scuff on the floor.

He’s quiet, for the most part, and at this point there’s nothing Dean can do but offer silent support. He sweeps the immediate area, too, unwilling to stray far from his brother in this kind of situation, but still wary of anywhere the creature might be hiding. When Sam speaks, it’s quiet enough that Dean nearly misses it entirely.

“Guess I’m really part of the family now,” he murmurs, shakes his head a little bit like he can’t believe he’s saying it. “All this time learning the ropes, and- and now this. Should be easy, right?” Frankly, Dean’s not sure that any hunt can really be considered easy, especially not when it’s Sam’s first time, and he thinks he sees his brother smile a little bit. “Yeah, okay. Maybe not.” 

His smile fades, then, and he suddenly looks a lot younger, not quite the adult he’s legally become. “I… I’m scared, De.” His eyes are still focused ahead, but it’s clear that Dean’s got most of his attention now. “I shouldn’t be. Winchesters don’t get scared, right? S’what Dad always says. But it’s… it’s a monster, Dean. It’s killed people.”

And that’s when Dean spots the way something’s reflecting the beam of Sam’s flashlight, a glint of eyes before the thing’s moving, and Dean can barely warn his brother before he settles for just going at it, topples a box to steer it away from Sam.

To his credit, Sam doesn’t jump, though his eyes are wide and scared as he raises his gun, goes stock-still and evens his breathing while he tries to pinpoint where it’s vanished to. Dean’s got it in his sights, shows Sam for barely a second before starting to clear a path there.

Their father’s coming closer, Dean thinks, and if he focuses, he can pick up the heavy breathing, the cursing as John follows the sound of commotion. He doesn’t call out, though, probably to keep from tipping the creature off to his presence. Not that the thing seems ready to be distracted, already on its feet again and snarling at Sam as he comes closer.

Sam seems steady for the moment, eyes hardened as he steadies his gun hand, but when the creature comes into his eyeshot, he seems to falter for a moment. It only takes a second for Dean to figure out why; the shapeshifter looks mostly human right then. It’s in the form of a young man at the moment, looks straight out of college with curly brown hair, dressed like he’s ready to spend the day around the house. What snaps Sam out of his momentary pause ends up being the might that glints off the thing’s eyes again, and then he’s raising his gun, gets off a couple shots at it. 

The gunshots are loud in the warehouse, they echo and Sam winces and the shapeshifter looks almost startled when it takes one right in the chest. Dean doesn’t even have to think about helping Sam aim anymore; it’s so deeply ingrained in him that it’s second nature to adjust the bullet’s path to make sure it hits its mark. John comes around the corner just as the thing goes down, falls hard to its knees and coughs violently, leaves splatters of blood on its hands where it tries, instinctively, to cover it.

The shapeshifter doesn’t get a chance to try and stagger to its feet, to try and keep fighting. John comes up behind it and doesn’t hesitate to put a bullet between its eyes. It slumps to the ground, and John nods to himself before tucking the gun away. 

Sam’s breathing hard, and Dean gives him a quick once-over. His brother seems fine, physically, just tired and a little shaky, and he calms down, decides to make sure his brother knows how proud he is. Sam manages a little smile just as their father approaches him.

“You alright?” he asks, voice gruff and a little breathless after the exertion of getting himself over to Sam. Sam nods a little bit, swallows hard and looks down at the creature. “Good. I’ll deal with this, you sweep the area.”

Sam nods again, but it takes him a few seconds and a gentle nudge from his brother before he starts moving, heads off into the maze of crates they’d navigated through earlier.

“It looked like a person, Dean,” Sam whispers once they're out of John’s eatshot. “It- it just looked like a guy. I just thought it’d be more… monstrous, you know?”

Dean isn’t sure how to respond to that, so he doesn’t, stays quiet and helps his brother look around. Sam sighs. “Guess it’s just part of the job, huh?” He sounds bitter, which is worrying enough that Dean does what he can to soothe him. Whether it’s effective or not, Sam sighs, shakes his head. “Whatever. Guess I have to get over it sooner or later.”

That’s the end of the conversation, and Sam refocuses on doing the sweep as asked. Once John’s done ‘dealing with’ the body- there’s a faint smell of burning that makes it all the way across the warehouse, and Sam looks like he might be sick- they meet up at the entrance to the warehouse. They leave without a word, and within the hour they’re on the road again, leaving town to make sure no one can follow their tracks.

Sam had been disenchanted with the hunting life to start with, but now that he’s had a taste of the work done on the front line, he doesn’t seem like he’ll be able to go on being a part of it much longer.

\--

For the last few months, on top of his usual schoolwork and ever-increasing responsibilities with the family business, Sam’s been spending a lot of time on college applications.

He and Dean both know full and well that their father isn’t going to approve. John’s never been a huge fan of education in the first place, not the kind offered by the regular school system, and the number of times he’s tried to convince Sam to drop out and _focus on what really matters_ is too high to count. It’s why Sam keeps his applications carefully tucked away, hidden along with the drawings he’s still doing of Dean, buried in the bottom of his duffle where his father won’t think to look.

It’s why, when the acceptances start rolling in, he hides them even more carefully.

Dean’s always known that his brother’s a smart kid. It becomes increasingly more obvious as he gets older, with his high test scores, his SAT results, the way he’s never failed anything academically as long as Dean can remember. It’s even clearer whenever he recites a spell from memory, translates old Latin texts like they’re child’s play. The knowledge doesn’t make him any less proud, doesn’t stop Dean from all but bursting with it every time a new letter comes in the mail. He can never tell whether it’s the acceptance itself or his own reaction that makes Sam smile the way he does.

By the time May rolls around, by the time Sam’s eighteen and the deadline for responding to his offers is rapidly approaching, he’s landed his top choice program- pre-law at Stanford, down in California. Dean really couldn’t be any happier for his brother, but there’s a distant sense of dread that’s growing by the day. Sooner or later, Sam’s going to have to break the news to their father, and there’s no scenario he can imagine in which it ends well.

All things considered, though, he thinks it’s might’ve gone a lot worse.

-

Sam leaves the conversation to what seems to be the last possible moment, when his bags are packed and their father is returning from a simple salt and burn, a little banged up but no worse for wear. He doesn’t notice Sam’s nervous fidgeting at first.

“Already got our next job lined up,” John’s saying as he wipes a cut clean. He’s done quickly, still doesn’t pay any attention to his son as he moves to start putting the guns away. “There’s a skinwalker in Maine Bobby wanted us to check out.”

Frankly, Dean’s skeptical that Bobby wanted _us_ to check out anything. He’s always been against Sam being involved in the hands-on side of hunting, not to mention he’s well aware of Sam’s plans to go off to school. As a matter of fact, John’s probably the only person Sam knows who _doesn’t_ know, just because he’s the only one guaranteed to react poorly.

“Dad, I have to tell you something,” Sam interrupts, and Dean lets himself go still, gets ready for whatever confrontation is about to happen. 

“It can wait,” John says dismissively, doesn’t so much as pause in his packing to look at his son. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, tell me then.”

“It can’t wait.” Sam doesn’t seem bothered by his father’s disinterest, steps forward to get in his space a little more. “’Cause I already bought my bus ticket, and it leaves in two hours.”

It’d been something Sam hadn’t been sure about, at first. He’d spent a long time debating with himself, discussing with Dean, trying to decide whether or not he was going to do something so bold. Ultimately, he’d managed to talk himself into it, though, and it now sits heavy in his jacket’s right pocket.

That manages to make John stop, and he frowns as he looks at Sam, halfway through putting his favourite shotgun away. “Excuse me?”

Dean gives his brother whatever confidence he can, and he watches Sam take a deep breath before continuing. “My bus to California. I’m going to be on it.”

“Why would you want to go to California?” John raises an eyebrow, looks unamused. “What, you not getting enough vitamin D? Stop screwing around, Sam. We need to hit the road.”

Sam doesn’t let it slow him down, and Dean braces himself. “I’m going to college,” he says, stands tall to add confidence to it. Because he _is_ tall, now, still lanky but starting to fill out, has even outgrown his father now. “Stanford. I’m going to be a lawyer, Dad.”

For a long moment, it almost looks like John’s going to start laughing. It fades, though, as he apparently comes to the realization that Sam’s serious, the determination in his son’s face shining through strong. He still lets out a snort of derision, turns away again. “No, you’re not. You’re going to be a hunter, the way you’ve always been. It’s who you are, Sam, and it’s who you always will be.”

“It’s who _you_ are,” Sam corrects, crossing his arms across his chest. “You know I’m not like you are. I’m not a hunter, not the way you want me to be, and- and I can’t take it anymore.” It's not just the hunting, either; it's the moving, the lying, the lack of long-term relationships. The fighting with John, the way it's happening more and more often recently. “I just want to be normal.”

“This isn’t just the sort of thing you can walk away from.” And now John sounds annoyed, stands up to his full height, mouth pressed in a thin line. “There’re always going to be things out there, Sam. Things that _normal_ people don’t have to deal with, but guess what? You’re not normal, Sam, never have been. You were born into this-”

“You forced me into this!” Sam snaps, and Dean’s starting to get restless because this is how is always goes, and he knows this fight is going to get worse before it gets better. “I didn’t ask to be a hunter, Dad, you put that on me! I haven’t had a normal life since I was a baby, the least you could do is let me have one now!”

John’s obviously getting pissed, starting to lose his composure, and the curtains ruffle, papers are blown off a desk, and neither of them seem bothered by what Dean intends as some kind of vague warning, some reminder that they’re not the only ones here. “Well the world isn’t normal, Sam. You know what’s out there. What are you going to do if something comes after you, huh? I’m not going to be there to protect you.”

That’s Sam’s tipping point, because he suddenly goes very quiet and very still. It’s a warning that only Dean seems to pick up on in the fraction of a second it happens.

“You haven’t been the one protecting me since I was a toddler!” he explodes, and their father actually seems a little startled. “Even then, you weren’t the one watching me! You weren’t taking care of me like you were supposed to. That was Dean. It’s _always_ been Dean, probably since I was born!” He laughs harshly. “He’s fucking _dead_ and he’s better at taking care of me than you ever were!”

It hurts a little, somehow, the reminder. Dean doesn’t really like to think about it, because even if he’d died, all those years ago, he isn’t _dead._ Not really. It certainly doesn’t feel like it, anyways. There’s something like guilt in Sam’s eyes as his brother picks up on it, but it’s quickly covered up as John opens his mouth.

When he speaks, it’s quieter than Dean’s ever heard him speak. “You’re right.” And that in itself is such a shock that he almost misses the next part entirely. “I haven’t been around. I had other responsibilities, and I put them in front of you. I’m not going to apologize for that, Sam, because we save people. I think that’s a little more important than your personal needs.”

Sam makes a frustrated sound, steps a little closer. “So what, that’s it? I don’t get a childhood because you were too busy? I don’t get a life because you want to keep me on a short leash?” He snorts, shakes his head with disbelief. “I don’t even get my brother because you fucked up, and you’re trying to take the rest of it from me, too?”

Dean’s more than a little startled by that. He’s never realized quite how much Sam apparently blames their father for his death, wonders if he’s been hiding it all this time or if it’s just his anger bringing it out. Either way, it’s easy to see the effect it has on John, because their father seems to lose most of the fight in him, and he suddenly looks ten years older.

“Do you really have the nerve to think you’re the only one who’s upset?” John doesn’t sound quiet anymore, something defeated but simmering with anger in his voice. “You were a baby when he died, Sam. I had four years to know him before that. You didn’t even know him!”

“And whose fault is that?” Sam isn’t backing down, and Dean’s worried about how this fight is going to end at the rate they’re going, where it’s going to leave their relationship. “And you’re wrong. I do know him. Probably better than you ever did, so don’t talk to me about who’s allowed to be upset. It’s your fault he’s not here, and it’s your fault he’s never going to be.”

Besides the fact that he very much _is_ here, and Sam knows it better than anyone else, Dean’s not happy about how harsh he’s being. John’s already defeated, already lost this fight, and Sam isn’t doing anything now except trying to cause damage. Dean doesn’t want to know how far he’s willing to go.

Like every other time he wants to stop one of these fights, Dean decides to go ahead and give the two of them something else to think about. This time’s different, though, because he knows his brother is, more than ever before, at fault, because he’s still on the offensive after John has surrendered. So when he throws an empty bottle, its trajectory sends it right past Sam’s head, carefully curved so it doesn’t touch him.

Even with that, Sam looks shocked and a little hurt, stumbles back a couple steps. He doesn’t say anything, just looks around for a few seconds before scooping up his duffle, shouldering it, and heading for the door.

“You don’t need me.” It’s hard to decide whether John sounds uncaring or just tired. “Don’t bother coming back.”

When Sam slams the door behind him, it’s obvious that he doesn’t intend to.

-

Sam doesn’t say a word while he walks to the bus stop, and Dean doesn’t need to try and figure out why. It’s obvious his brother is angry at him, it’s just a matter of when Sam’s going to choose to express it.

Surprisingly enough, he’s quiet when they get on the bus, when he picks a seat near the back away from the other passengers. In fact, Sam doesn’t say a word to him the whole way to California. It makes Dean uneasy, but he decides to pin it on the relatively public setting, on Sam not wanting the people around him to hear him talking to air. 

That might’ve explained it properly, but it doesn’t stop there.

Sam arrives in Palo Alto, finishes his registration with Stanford, gets his class schedule and his room assignment and a tour of the campus. He moves into his room, uses some of his meager supply of cash to stock it with some necessities. He finds a job at a local coffee shop to cover the expenses that his scholarship doesn’t.

It’s been a week since Sam left their father, and he still hasn’t spoken a word to Dean.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out he’s upset. He doesn’t show it, really, not with the way he goes about getting ready for his life as a normal person. Sam doesn’t make the slightest indication that he’s acting any differently at all, except for how he won’t talk to Dean, doesn’t so much as acknowledge his presence. Dean decides that his best course of action is to follow suit.

They sit at a stalemate for another four days. Dean isn’t sure what Sam’s feeling, but he knows that he himself is getting frustrated, annoyed, but mostly concerned. He wants to hash this out, because that’s usually how these things end. This time seems different, though, solely in than Sam doesn’t lash out at him as soon as they’re alone. Whether it’s because his brother is angrier than he’s been before, or if he’s just learning to control himself better emotionally has yet to be seen, but Dean wants to know, hates the radio silence between them.

It all comes to a head one afternoon, a total of eleven days after Sam left for California. There’s nothing special about the moment; he’s doing some prep work for one of his courses, reading some huge, stuffy text that Dean hadn’t cared to learn the name or purpose of. Sam doesn’t even look up from the book when he starts talking.

“I always thought you were on my side.” His tone is mild, like he could be discussing the weather, but Dean latches onto it immediately, because this is the first time his brother’s spoken to him in almost two weeks and he’ll take whatever he can get. “That’s your thing, isn’t it? Doing things for me. Whether I like it or not, everything you do is for me. Even if in it’s in some weird, roundabout way like scaring away my girlfriends.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and Dean isn’t sure where this is going. 

“I really thought you’d be on board for this, y’know? Leaving the family business. Leaving Dad. The whole deal.” He shrugs like it’s not important, and Dean’s just getting more confused, because of course he’s on board, has been since Sam brought it up in the first place.

Sam pauses for a minute, then raises his eyebrows a little, looks honestly surprised. “You seriously don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?” He shakes his head with disbelief. “The fight, Dean. You know, the one where Dad basically disowned me? The one where you decided to go along with his side. That one.”

And suddenly Dean understands; he remembers the fight, of course, but it’s only now, when Sam states it so plainly, that he realizes what his interference must have seemed like to his brother. Sam had been on the offensive, and it’s the only reason he’d aimed in that direction, but Sam must have seen it as betrayal.

The flood of realization seems to confuse Sam, at first, but he steels himself again a moment later, frowns again. “I mean- it’s probably the most I’ve ever needed you. I left _everything_ , Dean, everything except you. But you weren’t there for me, either.”

Dean wants to protest, because of _course_ he was there, but he’s suddenly hit by the understanding that he isn’t. He never has been- not for the past eighteen years or so, at least. He can’t be there for Sam like he wants to be, can’t offer his brother words of comfort or a pat on the shoulder or even a _smile_ when he needs it, and he’s not sure he’s ever been more upset with it than he is right then.

Sam’s frown changes a little, evidently surprised by the response he’s received. It fades, slowly, and then he looks away, swallows hard. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that,” he says quietly. “I know you didn’t ask for this. I just- it’s frustrating, sometimes.” Sam smiles wryly. “You’re kind of all I’ve got now, y’know? I want to know you’re in this with me. I need you to be.”

Dean doesn’t hesitate, wraps all the support and affirmation and approval he can around his brother, so much of it that it pulls a laugh out of Sam, makes his smile a little more genuine. “Yeah. S’good to know. Thanks, Dean.”

Dean’s not sure he needs to be thanked, because of course he supports his brother in anything and everything he does, but he appreciates the sentiment, anyways.

\--

It’s no surprise that Sam falls into his new life with relative ease. He starts his classes, starts his readings, starts living like any other college kid. The only difference is that he seems to distance himself from his peers, too many years of isolation making it hard for him to get into the swing of making friends. He starts to get over it slowly, though, once he’s gotten used to the whole schedule and lifestyle. He meets Brady at work a few weeks into the first term, starts talking to Becky and Zack not long after.

He’s introduced to Jessica Moore halfway through the second term. 

Brady brings them together because he’s been trying to get Sam out more, thinks he spends too much time holed up with his textbooks and nothing to eat but Lucky Charms. Dean can’t help but agree with him. He’s been adjusting, too, trying to get the hang of Sam having friends he isn’t going to leave in the next couple of weeks. It’s hard at first, learning to share his brother more than he’s ever had to, but he’s dealing. He knows enough now not to try to scare them off, that it only ends badly for everyone involved.

It’s not so much a party as it is a few of Brady’s friends hanging out at his house, eating pizza and watching a movie, but it seems Sam can’t really be bothered to pay attention. His eyes keep drifting back to the blonde curled up on the couch, and he keeps looking away like he thinks he’s going to get caught. It’s all pretty amusing to watch, in Dean’s opinion, and he knows his bother can pick up on it when Sam scowls for a moment, gives a mildly betrayed look to the air above his head.

Despite Sam’s apparent efforts, it seems that Jessica notices his shy looks, because she approaches him later, when they’re together again with mutual friends. They start talking, Sam seems a little hesitant at first, but it doesn’t take long for them to hit it off. She’s pretty, funny, smart, and- as Sam makes sure to tell his brother several times- she’s basically perfect. They slip into friendship easily, start getting closer as the months go by.

As he has in the past, as used to his brother’s uninterrupted attention as he is, Dean can’t help but feel a little jealous. Childish and petty as he knows it is, there’s a part of him that wants to stop the friendship before it goes any further. It seems, however, that Sam’s had enough experience by now to recognize the signs early.

He waits until they’re alone to confront it, until he’s back in his tiny room after some time out with Jessica and a couple of their friends. He doesn’t hesitate once the door’s closed, sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose.

“Dean, you can’t keep doing this.” Sam doesn’t clarify what _this_ is. He doesn’t need to. “I’m trying to be normal. I _want_ to be normal. It’s all I want right now. Normal means having friends, and-” He pauses, laughs a bit. “And maybe a girlfriend, if I’m lucky. I don’t know. But please, you can’t…” He sighs again, seems to steel himself a little before looking up, obviously determined. “Not this, Dean. You’re not going to get in the way of this. I really like Jess, and we get along, and… Please?”

And Dean almost feels like he should take offence, but logically, he knows Sam doesn’t mean it to offend. He just wants to live his life, and Dean decides a moment later that he doesn’t want to interfere with his brother’s happiness, not when he’s working so hard to get this life in the first place.

The resignation and acceptance seem to be enough for Sam, and he smiles a little. “Thanks. I really appreciate it, De. I just… she’s really great, you know?”

And Dean sort of wants to hate her for that, because she makes his brother so happy in ways he can’t. In ways he’ll never be able to even try. But at the same time he _can’t_ , because it’s obvious how much Sam likes her, and Dean can’t help but like her a little, too. She’s just a good person, and good for his brother, and he doesn’t want to get in the way of that. Not this time, not when Sam’s getting settled down and seems genuinely happy for the first time in a long time.

So he hangs back. He stays still and doesn’t do anything especially noticeable while Jessica or any of Sam’s other friends are around, even goes so far as to practice dulling their bond a little so Sam isn’t hit quite so intensely with his every emotion. He can tell when Sam starts noticing, the way he’ll frown a little and glance around, but it just takes a little bit of effort to soothe him, assure him everything is fine before he goes back to smiling and laughing with his friends.

And for a long while, it works. Sam finishes his first year with good grades and good friends, though the last few days are a little bittersweet. Most of the people he knows are going home for the summer, going back to their families, but it’s not like Sam has much of a family to go home to.

Just as he’s starting to pack up Sam stops short, nearly hits himself, muttering about what an idiot he is before digging his phone out of his pocket. Dean understands a moment later when Sam hits his first speed dial, a relieved smile growing on his face when the person on the other end picks up.

“Hey, Bobby. I’ve got a favour to ask.”

-

Sam ends up spending the summer going between Bobby’s house and the Roadhouse, busses up from California as soon as it’s confirmed that of _course_ he can come, and he’s welcome whenever he wants to stay. It’s probably the most relaxed he’s been around Bobby and Ellen and Jo in months, because there’s no longer the looming deadline of John coming by to pick him up. It’s just four months of helping out around the house, around the bar, with Jo’s science homework. They might not be family by blood, but it’s the closest Sam’s ever had, and it’s obvious that he doesn’t want to leave them behind.

He returns to Stanford for his second year with promises to visit more often, on holidays and long weekends and whenever else he gets the opportunity. If there’d been any doubt as to whether or not Sam’s friend group would continue on after the summer, it’s wiped away as soon as he runs into Jessica on his way to the grocery store. She smiles wide and gives him a hug, and they pick up right where they’d left off before summer.

They’re good friends, getting ever better, and Dean decides there’s nothing he can do besides sit back and watch.

-

Sam moves into an apartment for his second year, shares it with a couple of his friends. He’s got his own room, and the shower has hot water, so he’s happy. He even goes so far as to splurge a little bit, spend some of the extra money he’s been putting aside to buy himself some things, decorations or the like that he’s never before had a need or want for.

Dean’s not sure why Sam thinks the vase is a good idea, but he suspects it might have something to do with the way Jessica teases him about it, how it’ll match his curtains or something. Which, in Dean’s opinion, isn’t right at all, because the vase has some ridiculous polka-dot pattern while the curtains are an even beige, but he’s unable to voice his objections. It only takes a day for Sam to find himself some flowers to put in it, and they make it worse, if possible, because they’re the wrong colour and the stems are too long and Dean really shouldn’t be so bothered by this but he is.

He’s pretty sure Sam only puts the thing out on display because he can tell.

He sets it out on a shelf above his desk, mingled in with monstrous textbooks and a bottle that’s filled with holy water, _just in case_ he always mutters when he looks at it, and Dean knows it’s because it makes him feel a little safer. Dean doesn’t have any qualms with it; it’s just the vase that has to go. Sam seems determined to hang onto it, though, and Dean has a sneaking suspicion that it’s for no reason except to bother him.

It’s a couple weeks after he buys it in the first place that Jessica’s visiting, and there’s some excuse about exchanging notes for some class they have together, but Dean’s pretty sure they’ll just end up hanging out. They’re in Sam’s room, and he’s going through his things trying to dig up some papers for her.

“Hold on, I think I might’ve jammed them in one of my books,” he’s saying, brow furrowing with concentration as he reached up high on his shelves. “Did you want to stay here? ‘Cause we could always head over to that little café-”

Jessica seems to notice the vase wobbling at the same time Dean does, because Sam’s bumped it while he shuffles books around but hasn’t realized it yet. Her eyes widen a little as it tips, starts to fall towards Sam.

“Sam, look out!” she’s saying, stepping forward. In the moment, all Dean can really think about is that he _finally_ has an excuse to get the thing out of here- because it’s threatening Sam’s life, obviously, and he’s not going to allow that- and before he bothers thinking about the consequences, just as gravity starts taking the vase down towards Sam’s head, Dean propels it across the room, water and flowers and bits of ceramic thrown everywhere when it shatters against the wall. The impact is too loud in the suddenly quiet room, and Dean only has a moment to be pleased with himself before he registers Jessica’s shock, Sam’s dawning horror.

“I, uh… I should probably clean that up,” Sam says weakly, swallows hard and heads over to crouch down, starting to pick pieces of ceramic off the floor. There’s a tremble in his hands that tells Dean he’s absolutely terrified, and he actually jumps when Jessica comes up behind him, lays a hand on his shoulder.

“Sam,” she said quietly, squeezing a little. “I… I didn’t imagine that, right?”

Sam stops what he’s doing, takes a deep breath before standing up. He looks at Jessica for a long moment, confusion and something that’s not quite fear in her face, then turns to close the door. He takes her hand, moves to sit her down on the bed before joining her. He doesn’t look at her when he starts to speak.

“It wasn’t me,” is the first thing he says. “I mean- not really. I’m not psychic, or anything like that.” It’s always been a point of irritation for him, when people assume he’s telekinetic or something of the sort because Dean moves something and it’s the only explanation they can conjure. “It was… it was Dean.”

Jessica looks even more confused at that, for good reason. Sam’s never told his friends here much about his family. He talks about Bobby sometimes, or Ellen and Jo. If his father comes up in conversation, Dean certainly doesn’t. His name hasn’t once come up in conversation in the year and a bit they’ve known each other, so it’s understandable that she’s got nothing to connect it to.

“Dean’s my brother. Older brother, four years,” Sam clarifies after a moment of silence. “I mean- he was. Is. It’s complicated.” He hesitates a long moment before continuing. “He… he’s dead. He died when I was a baby. House fire.” Jessica looks like she’s about to interject, to offer condolences if her expression is any hint, but Sam continues before she gets the chance. “Except that’s just it. He’s not really dead. Or at least, he’s not really gone. It’s hard to explain.” He sighs, rubs a hand through his hair. “He’s- he’s attached to me, kind of. He’s been hanging around as some kind of… spirit. Soul. I’m not sure how it works, really. But he does things, he can move stuff, and- and I can feel him. All the time, he’s just… there. Right now he feels guilty, probably for tipping you off in the first place.

“I wanted to tell you, Jess, you’ve gotta believe me. I’m sorry I lied, or- or withheld the truth or whatever, but…” And Sam falters for a moment, presumably remembering all the trouble that Dean’s existence has caused in the past. “People never believed me. They said I was lying, or making him up, or insane. But I know he’s real. And just- please don’t tell anyone, Jess, you can be mad, but just-”

“Sam,” Jessica interrupts gently, rests a hand on his arm. Sam stops, looks at her with slightly wide eyes. “Can I talk for a minute?” He looks confused, but nods a little, doesn’t look away. Jessica smiles a little bit. “I believe you. That thing didn’t move by itself, right? And I don’t know about you, but if I was psychic, I’d show everyone I knew. Like… all the time.” The words are teasing, and they manage to relax Sam a little bit as she continues. “And I’m not mad. I don’t know what it’s been like, having him around and having people find out, but if you didn’t want to tell me, I trust that you had a good reason for it.”

Sam’s eyes are still wide, with surprise this time more than anything else. “You… you’re not mad?” he asks, voice small.

“I’m not mad,” she agrees, smiling a bit. She pauses, then, thoughtful. “Does he do that a lot? Save you from falling objects?”

And Sam actually laughs at that, the tenseness seeping out of him. “Something like that. He probably could’ve just stopped it in mid-air or floated it down or something.” He looks up, then, some sort of amused irritation in his face. “He hated it, though. I think he just wanted an excuse to smash it to bits.”

Dean’s more proud than he is sheepish, and it makes Sam laugh. “Yeah, that was definitely on purpose.” He turns to face Jessica again as he continues. “He’s actually kind of ridicu-”

But he’s cut off mid-word when soft lips meet his own, and it only takes him a second before he’s responding, closing his eyes and returning the kiss tentatively. He gains confidence a moment later, reaches up to smooth his fingers through Jessica’s hair as they continue. 

She breaks away a moment later, a little flushes and smiling at him. “I think you were saying something about going to a café?” she murmurs, and Sam’s nodding a little, something almost dazed in the motion.

That’s how they start dating, and Dean can’t help but admit that he sort of approves.

\--

Months go by and they stay together, just getting closer as friends, as boyfriend-and-girlfriend. They talk a little more freely about Sam’s past, though it’s still heavily censored. Mostly, what changes is that Sam’s allowed to talk to someone about his brother for the first time in a long time.

It’s different, it seems, than talking with Ellen or Bobby or Jo. To them, Dean’s a friend, another family member, someone they’ve grown up with. Jessica doesn’t know anything about Dean to begin with, has a blank slate with which to learn about Sam’s big brother. And learn she does, because once Sam starts talking, he seems to have trouble stopping.

“He’s just always been there, y’know?” he’s saying. They’re curled up in Sam’s bed, Jessica’s head pillowed on his chest, and she’s lying half on top of him. They’re both wearing clothes, having mutually agreed that it’ll be best to take things slow, and she’s just pressing idle kisses to his throat and jaw as he speaks. “Like- a guardian angel or something. Every time something bad happens, he’s there, he saves me. Or he tries. He’s kind of a dick sometimes, too, though.”

Dean doesn’t take offence because there’s a sort of fondness in his voice, but decides to respond anyways, ruffles the blankets spread out on top of them. Sam rolls his eyes and Jessica laughs. “I take it he doesn’t agree?”

“That’s just ‘cause he thinks he’s still doing his job. You know, _protecting_ me from my girlfriends.” Sam sighs dramatically. “Guess we’re just lucky he doesn’t see you as a threat.” The words are teasing and Dean’s inclined to tug on the sheets again, just for the hell of it.

“Well, then I’ll try to keep coming off as non-threatening,” Jessica replies solemnly, glances around a little like she’ll be able to assure Dean of the fact. “Wouldn’t want to steal you from him.”

It’s a little surprising that Jessica seems to understand his feelings on the matter so well, maybe even better than Sam does. It’s an impressive feat, considering that Sam can feel them for himself.

Sam nods a little, yawns. “Yeah, I don’t think he’d appreciate that,” he murmurs, eyes sliding shut. “M’gonna make sure he lets you stick around, though.” 

He’s out within a few minutes, one arm curled loosely around Jessica as his breathing evens out. Dean’s pretty much ready to check out, to slip into his hibernative state, but it seems that Jessica isn’t quite asleep yet.

“Dean?” she murmurs, glances at Sam. He doesn’t stir, and she looks up again, a little hesitation in her voice. “You there?”

Dean opts to ruffle the blankets again, careful not to disturb his brother. Jessica smiles, then, seems to relax a little as she settles down.

“Hi,” she says then, still careful to speak quietly. “Just wanted to talk to you a bit, I guess. It’s okay if you can’t really reply.”

Dean’s a little surprised by that, but doesn’t let it show, just stays still and quiet as he waits for her to continue. She seems to take that as encouragement, nods a little bit before she sits up. She doesn’t pull away from Sam completely, his arm still tight around her waist.

“I just… I wanted to say thank you,” she says quietly, and Dean’s beyond surprised now, more shocked than anything else. He’s careful to dull it down so he doesn’t disturb Sam. “For taking care of him all these years. I know he doesn’t want to tell me much about growing up, but I get the sense you were a big part of it.”

Her intuition is impressive, Dean thinks, but he’s interrupted before he can ponder it much. “I just wish you could talk to him. Like really talk, you know? He just… he loves you so much. Almost as much as me.” Her tone is teasing as she glances down at Sam. “He doesn’t say it, but… it’s easy to tell. He talks like you’re the only person in the world, you know?”

Dean doesn’t even know where to begin to reply to that, touched in a way he’s never been. Not only is Jessica acknowledging him as his own person- because he _is_ , no matter how many people struggle to comprehend it- but she’s giving him credit for everything he’s done for Sam, everything she knows about, everything she doesn’t. It warms him to the core. He tugs the sheets just so, in such a way that she rolls a little bit, and it makes her laugh softly. Jessica yawns then, rubs at her eyes. “Anyway, that’s all,” she murmurs, slides down the bed to curl up with Sam again. “Thanks, Dean. S’nice to talk to you.”

Just as she’s drifting off, Dean takes a moment to tuck the blankets in around her, makes sure they’re both good and comfortable before he allows himself to relax. It’s probably that moment that really seals the deal for him: Jessica is part of his family now, is in his circle of protection, and he makes a promise to make sure nothing bad happens to her so long as it’s in his power to prevent.

-

Jessica leaves the next day after breakfast, has an early class to get to, gives Sam a quick kiss and says goodbye to Dean on her way out. Sam looks surprised, but it’s soon replaced by an easy smile as he returns to his room, plops down on his bed with a sigh.

“She’s perfect,” he says, looks up at the ceiling with a little smile on his face. “That’s it. I’ve died and gone to heaven and they gave me the perfect girlfriend, Dean.”

And it’s all Dean can do to agree, lets out an approving little pulse of energy. There’s surprise on Sam’s face again, and he seems confused for a moment. “You… really?” he asks, sounds astonished. But then he’s beaming, sitting up and looking around and all but bouncing in place, and Dean’s pretty sure that if he was physically there, Sam would be crushing him in a hug right now. “Thanks, De,” he says softly. “Means a lot.”

He can’t seem to wipe the smile off his face that day, and Dean’s pretty pleased with himself for being the cause of it for the first time in a long time.

\--

Months keep passing like that, with Jessica accepting Dean’s existence, with her and Sam getting closer as friends and as a couple. They’re still taking it slow, though, seem determined not to rush things. Second year ends on a high note, and Sam ends up spending the summer not only at Bobby’s and the Roadhouse, but visiting friends. He even meets Jessica’s parents, smiles and shakes hands and plays the part of the perfect boyfriend. It’s good, better than the last one, even, and Dean’s not sure his brother’s life has ever been better than it is now.

It’s after the first round of midterm exams in third year that Sam and Jessica are in bed together, but clothes are disappearing and their kissing is hungrier than before, more frantic. They’ve got their own place now, just off campus, and it’s small and cozy and private, and Dean wonders if maybe that’s part of what’s been holding them back this whole time.

Jessica breaks the kiss suddenly, panting for breath where she’s straddling Sam, hands on his bare chest. She glances around, then, seems a little bit hesitant. “Sam, is… is Dean here?” she asks.

Sam’s obviously caught off-guard, blinks up at her a few times. “Yeah,” he manages a moment later, a little breathless. “Yeah, he’s always here.” 

It occurs to Dean suddenly that maybe he’s making this difficult for them, because to his knowledge his brother isn’t much of an exhibitionist, and Jessica doesn’t seem like the type, either. Sam smiles a little when he starts radiating guilt, shakes his head minutely. Jessica’s speaking again before he gets the chance to explain, though.

She clears her throat a bit, looks around again. “Dean? If… if you’ve got a problem with this, tell us, okay? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

There’s something in her voice that it takes Dean a moment to place, and he can’t register anything but his own shock when he’s able to identify it. She’s actually asking for _permission_ , wants his blessing before this goes any further. He can’t even formulate a response, too overwhelmed by how much she obviously respects him. 

Sam smiles a bit, lets out a soft laugh. “I think you broke Dean,” he murmurs, glances up at the empty space above his head before his eyes return to Jessica. “People aren’t usually this nice to him.”

Jessica smiles at that, and there’s a little sadness in the expression. “That’s the impression I’m getting, yeah,” she says quietly. She looks up again, then, in a gesture Dean’s long since come to understand as some instinctive attempt to see him. “But really, if you’ve got a problem… let us know, alright?”

There’s some part of Dean that knows, without a doubt, that if he expresses some kind of disapproval, Jessica will back off without question. It might be that, in and of itself, that makes his decision for him.

The house is warded, as best as Sam could manage without it being obvious, so Dean doesn’t have a problem letting himself drift out of the room. He settles himself in the kitchen, where he can see the front door and a little ways down the hall. He shows it to Sam, briefly, can make out his brother’s sound of surprise from where he is, and then lets himself drift off, focuses on relaxing. He’s never done this while Sam’s awake, before, wonders distantly how it feels to him as he fades out a little bit. Whatever it is, he hopes he’s giving the two of them the privacy they deserve.

-

Dean doesn’t tune back in until he hears someone whispering his name, returns to the room to find Sam with his eyes open, Jessica curled up safe in his arms. He smiles when Dean starts waking up properly, closes his eyes.

“Just wanted to say thanks,” he murmurs. “I don’t know what it was that made you okay with this, but… I’m glad. Thanks for letting me have this, De. Means a lot.”

He falls asleep soon after that, and Dean takes a moment to tuck the both of them in, as he’s become accustomed to doing, before allowing himself to drift off, too. He’s happy for his brother, happy for Jessica, happy that they have each other. He just hopes it’s going to last.

\--

It’s near the end of third year that Sam starts having nightmares.

And that’s really all they are, in the beginning. Sam startles himself out of sleep, sits up straight, covered in cold sweat and trembling a little. Jessica usually wakes up, too, rubs his shoulders until he’s calm enough to drift off again. That works for a few weeks, and it’s easy to pass them off as nothing more than bad dreams. It’s not like that’s totally unjustifiable, considering the way Sam’s spent his childhood, but it’s when the headaches start that Dean really begins to worry.

Sam doesn’t say he’s in pain, doesn’t even move towards the aspirin in the bathroom. But Dean picks up on the way his brow furrows, on the way he’s clenching his jaw tight. Dean tries to heal him, at first, the way he’s usually able to fix his physical injuries, but it seems that this pain is buried too deep for him to pinpoint. So Dean does the next best thing: he takes it onto himself.

It takes a few tries to master it, but eventually, Dean manages to siphon the pain through their bond, take it away his brother so he experiences it, instead. It’s dulled, and he manages to hide it from Sam as best he can, so as far as Sam knows it really _is_ just a matter of Dean healing him.

“Thanks, Dean,” he’ll whisper when he’s able to relax a little, explains the whole thing to Jessica when she asks.

The one thing Sam won’t talk about is what, exactly, he’s been dreaming about. He always brushes it off as _just a nightmare, don’t worry_ , but it doesn’t seem to be enough for Jessica after the first few incidents. Dean isn’t convinced, either, but there’s really nothing he can do at this point except soothe his brother as best he knows how.

\--

The start of Sam’s fourth year at Stanford is good. The nightmares are still there, but Dean’s dealing with them well enough that they barely bother Sam anymore. He and Jessica are as happy as ever, and Sam’s even started looking at rings, after swearing Dean to secrecy. His grades are good, his job prospects are better, and he’s got an important interview on Monday to try and get into Stanford’s law school after completing his undergraduate.

Life’s good, so based on their luck, it really shouldn’t be any surprise when it comes crashing down around them.

On the Friday night before his interview, on Halloween, while Jessica’s getting all dressed up for the party she’s dragging him to, Sam’s phone rings. It’s not a terribly uncommon occurrence in itself, but when he looks at the caller ID, he stops short. _John Winchester_ scrolls across the screen, and he just clenches his jaw before ignoring the call. He notices, later, that his father has apparently left a message for him, but he elects not to listen to it. John had his opportunity to talk, back before his disowned Sam, and Sam’s not about to give him a second chance. 

The party goes well, and Saturday is spent recovering from what turns out to be a pretty massive hangover, and Sam’s in a good mood until he wakes up on Sunday. He has another nightmare, but that isn’t really the problem. It’s more the date that bothers him, because it’s November 2nd, and twenty-two years ago today was the date of the house fire that killed most of his family.

Jessica knows enough to leave him alone, for the most part, to just offer him silent comfort and give him space as he needs it. Dean’s equally as quiet, just gives his brother whatever support he can. He’s not sure if it makes it better or worse, considering it’s the anniversary of his own death, but he decides not to think about it too hard. 

Even with the date, Sam manages to get himself together before lunchtime. He smiles at Jessica, lets her quiz him for his interview tomorrow, and all in all, they get through the afternoon together.

Sam hadn’t intended, initially, to let Brady drag him out for a couple drinks. He’s trying to argue that he can’t spend the night out, that he has to wake up early tomorrow, but Brady insists on taking him out to celebrate his LSAT scores, and soon enough Sam finds himself at a local bar, nursing a beer and watching with some vague sense of amusement as Brady tries and fails to pick up women. Brady actually ends up checking out early, seems to remember something else he has to do tonight, but he makes Sam promise to hang around for a little while and have some fun for him.

All things considered, Sam returns home in a good mood. It’s late, and it seems that Jessica’s taking her shower when he arrives. There’s a plate of cookies on the table, a note with a smiley face, and Dean might’ve bugged his brother about how cheesy it all is if he hadn’t been so otherwise distracted by how very, very _wrong_ something feels.

He can’t quite pinpoint it, but there’s something about the atmosphere of the quiet house that makes him want to turn and run, and he wants to get Sam _out_ , can’t explain it, but Sam doesn’t seem bothered, just grabs one of the cookies as he heads to the bedroom.

“You okay?” he asks, sounds only vaguely interested. “’Cause you’re kind of freaking me out, Dean.”

He closes his eyes and flops back on the bed, smiles a little to himself. “It’s over, I’ve got the interview tomorrow… there’s nothing to worry about. Chill.”

And that’s when Dean actually sees what’s setting him on edge, and it’s probably the sudden wave of panic and fear that makes Sam open his eyes. That, and the feeling of something wet and warm and thick dripping on his forehead. 

It only takes a fraction of a second for Sam’s eyes to go wide, for him to scramble into something of a sitting position as he stares up at the ceiling in horror. 

“No, no, _no!_ ” he’s saying, shouting, because Jessica is pinned to the ceiling and there’s fear and pain in her eyes as she starts dripping blood. It’s only when the ceiling bursts into flame around her that Dean manages to get over his initial sense of shock, to shove Sam out of the room as it’s engulfed in flame. He barely has the presence of mind to force Sam out of the house, to ignore his brother’s pleading and his desperate cries, makes sure Sam is safe outside before he goes back in himself.

Even before he gets to the bedroom, it’s obvious there’s nothing he can do. Jessica’s burning alive, already beyond saving, but he tries anyways, does whatever he’s able to try and calm the fire. Before he can get much done, though, he’s flung out of the house, back to Sam, and it leaves him feeling dizzy, more than a little disoriented. It doesn’t take him long to focus on Sam, though, on the state that his brother has worked himself into.

There are tears steaming silently down Sam’s face as he stares at the fire. A neighbour must’ve called the fire department, because sirens are audible in the distance, and people in surrounding houses are streaming out to watch with horror and sympathy. Dean thinks his brother is probably in shock, because it’s not until the ambulances and fire trucks are arriving that he works up the ambition to move. 

He walks away from the scene, heads straight for the parking lot where Jessica parks her car. He’s lucky she had a key made for him, because it’s in his pocket along with his wallet and phone and the knife he still carries when he goes out. It’s all he has, now, and he gets in the car and turns away from the fire and just drives.

Dean’s not sure his brother should be allowed behind the wheel in his state, but there’s nothing he can do to deter him, too caught up in the endless feedback loop of shock and grief that their connection has become. All he can do is watch as Sam drives in complete silence, doesn’t so much as touch the radio on his way to a motel outside of town.

He checks in and heads into his room, just sits perched on the edge of the bed for a long moment. He’s trembling, Dean realizes, tears spilling over again and cutting paths through the dirt and ash and smoky residue on his face. Dean doesn’t know what to do, how to handle this, because they’ve never had to before. Abruptly, Sam moves to lie down, closes his eyes. If nothing else, Dean takes it as a hint that he should sleep, too, lets himself shut down until he’s just barely aware of his surroundings. For now, it seems like a blessing.

-

Dean isn’t sure what, exactly, rouses him, but suddenly he’s awake and he’s looking around and he’s confused and then he realizes that Sam isn’t in his bed. He’s not sure why this is so terrifying until he remembers that they’ve lost Jessica, that Sam’s all he has right now, that his brother might be doing something stupid.

When Dean uses their bond to track Sam to the bathroom, it seems that he’s right.

Sam hasn’t cleaned up any, still covered in dirt, dried tear tracks obvious on his cheeks. He’s slumped against the bathroom wall, legs sprawled out in front of him as he looks at the knife in his hand with dulled eyes. It takes Dean a moment to get over the fact that there’s blood on its blade before he’s able to register how _much_ of it there is, before he’s able to even begin to look for where it’s all coming from. The red is a stark, grotesque contrast to the white-tiled floor, makes it even harder to focus.

It’s Sam’s wrists, he realizes belatedly, each with a couple long slashes up the lengths of them. Dean doesn’t even want to think about this, even consider how broken Sam must be to have been driven to this, just pours all his energy into stitching up the wounds. They close easy enough, but making up for the heavy blood loss is harder, leaves Dean feeling drained and weak. He’s still present enough to tug the knife out of Sam’s hands, setting it up on the counter out of his reach.

Sam opens his eyes slowly- when did they close?- and Dean’s surprised by the intensity of the anger he sees there. 

“You couldn’t just let me get out, could you?” The words are quiet, but there’s a simmering fury in them that Dean’s never heard from his brother. “The one way I get out of this, and you- you couldn’t just let me have it.”

Dean doesn’t understand, still can’t comprehend why Sam would even consider hurting himself like this, but he continues anyways. “She’s gone, Dean. She’s the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me and- and she’s gone.” His voice breaks on the last word, and Dean’s heart breaks for his brother. He tries to help, to offer his brother some kind of comfort, but that just seems to make it worse.

“Don’t you dare,” he hisses, manages to stand up. He casts an imposing figure, tall and built and covered in dirt and soot and blood. “You don’t get to- to try to make me feel better. You didn’t save her, Dean. And now you won’t even let me die?” He laughs harshly, and it’s almost a sob, and Dean is lost because he can’t believe his brother has come to this point. He’d never have imagined that losing Jessica would affect him quite so severely. It’s startling, it’s terrifying, and Dean doesn’t know what to do.

“Whatever killed her? That’s the same thing that killed Mom, Dean. The thing that killed you.” It’s something Dean had been wondering about, and he’s not surprised it’s occurred to Sam, as well. “I don’t know if you’ve realized, but I’m the common denominator here. It’s my fault she died, and- and I don’t want to live with that. I don’t want you here trying to make me feel better, because I don’t _want_ to feel better. I don’t want to have to feel this anymore.” He closes his eyes, leans heavily against the wall.

Dean knows there’s nothing he can do to ease Sam’s pain at this point. The one thing he can manage, though, is to remove his own from the equation.

Whether he wants to or not, he’s constantly influencing Sam, projecting his feelings to his brother like a neon sign. He’s been getting better at containing them, recently, and he decides to use this opportunity to see just how far he can take it.

Dulling his emotions has become second-nature by now, so that’s where he starts. He just continues from there, focuses on their bond and tries to imagine building a wall, a barrier. Something that will block Sam from feeling anything from him at all.

Dean can pinpoint the exact moment he’s successful, because Sam’s eyes snap open and there’s something like terror in them.

“Dean?” he whispers, eyes darting around. And for a moment Dean feels triumphant, because it’s obvious Sam can’t feel him anymore, his goal in this whole exercise. That feeling vanishes a moment later when Sam raises a hand to his mouth, chokes on a sob. 

“Oh, God, Dean, I didn’t…” And he sounds so utterly broken in that moment, slides down the bathroom wall to sit again, unaware or uncaring of how he’s soaking his jeans in his own blood. “I didn’t mean it. Fuck, I don’t want you gone, you-” He laughs, and there’s no humour in the sound, just more tears. “You’re all I have. Please, De, I’m sorry, don’t… don’t go.”

That’s when he really starts crying, heaving with sobs, choking out his brother’s name when he catches enough of a breath to do so, and Dean’s at a loss. It seems that no matter what he does, what he doesn’t do, Sam’s still going to be upset, grieving in one way or another, and he wonders if maybe there’s nothing he can do but sit back and wait it out. For now, though, Sam’s upset, and it’s making him upset, and he shatters the mirror out of frustration before he can really think about it.

Sam stops short, eyes a little wide as he looks up at the mirror. “Dean?” he whispers, voice thick and hopeful.

Dean can’t bear to watch his brother suffer like this anymore, so he responds, lets a little trickle of acknowledgement slip by the barrier he’s put up. Another sob builds in Sam’s throat, but the sound is one of relief, and he’s smiling shakily and wiping furiously at his eyes. He’s smearing blood and dirt everywhere but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Thank God,” he whispers, shakes his head. “I- I thought you left. For good this time.” He sniffles, shakes his head quickly. “Don’t- don’t do that again. Please? You scared me, De.” His voice is small at the end, and there’s nothing Dean can do but agree. He takes down the wall a moment later, a little bit at a time so Sam isn’t too overwhelmed by the relief and love that flow over to him.

Sam laughs again, still sounds a little broken. “Yeah. Me, too,” he whispers. The smile fades, though, as something seems to dawn on him.

“If… if I died,” he whispers, suddenly looking like a scared little kid, “what would happen to you?”

Dean doesn’t have an answer, because it’s not something he’s ever thought of. As much as he’s his own entity, his own person with his own thoughts and feelings, he’s undeniably bound to Sam, much in the way that the spirits their father hunts are bound to places or objects. He doesn’t know what would happen to him, should something happen to his brother, but he can’t imagine it’s anything good.

“I could’ve killed you,” Sam whispers, then, sounds more horrified over this than he’d been over the possibility of taking his own life. “God, Dean, I didn’t even… I’m so sorry.”

Dean doesn’t really know why Sam’s apologizing, but he forgives him regardless, makes it obvious and continues until his brother manages to smile again.

It takes a little time for Sam to work up the ambition to stand again, and even then, he’s a little shaky. He had a goal in mind, though, and it seems to be what gives him the strength to walk back into the main room, to find his phone and press a few keys with trembling fingers.

Their father’s message isn’t long, but it gives Sam a direction, a mission. Before the sun comes up, he’s on the road again, headed with grim determination to Jericho, California.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a doozy. Anyways, I hope you guys liked the chapter, because now's when some stuff is gonna get a little complicated. Which actually reminds me; I wanted to ask your opinions on something.
> 
> So as I'm sure you're all aware, this whole story is like... canon divergence. The one thing I'm not sure about, though, is how to handle the next little bit. On one hand, I could go through each episode, skim through it and cover the important bits, but I'm worried that might get a little boring to read. My other option is to pick and choose some of the more important (in my opinion, anyways) episodes and stick to doing those in a little more detail. Any opinion you guys have would be appreciated :D
> 
> Again, I'm not sure about my update time for the next chapter, but stick around. It'll get here eventually :) Thanks for reading, and have a lovely day!


	7. Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m gonna find it, De. It’s gonna pay.”
> 
> That’s the end of the conversation, and that’s how Sam starts hunting again for real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate summary: “sam tried so hard & got so far but in the end it didn’t even matter bc john wasn’t there rip in peace” -Alice
> 
> First half of season one, essentially, a little past the end of Asylum. Enjoy!

The drive to Jericho takes most of the next day, and Dean spends it in fear that his brother’s going to fall asleep at the wheel. It’s obvious that Sam’s exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, and he still hasn’t cleaned up much. It’s no wonder he gets a slightly wide-eyed look from the manager of the motel he stops at when he finally arrives, but there must be something in Sam’s expression that tells him enough to know he shouldn’t be asking questions. 

Sam isn’t tired enough, though, to miss what probably should have been obvious to him as soon as he pulled into the motel’s parking lot. His eyes widen when they land on the sleek black metal, the familiar licence plate, and Dean’s just as shocked as his brother, because there’s no mistaking it for anything other than the Impala, the very one in which they grew up, and it’s been years since they’ve seen it but it’s no less recognizable.

After the shock fades, Sam’s turning around abruptly, marching right back into the office and to the front desk, making the manager jump a little bit, straighten up as he tries to smile.

“Welcome back, sir. Is there a problem with-?”

“Who’s the owner of the Impala parked out front?” Sam cuts him off, no room for argument in his voice. 

The man seems taken aback, a crease forming in his forehead as he tries to make sense of the question. “Another one of the guests here. It’s not really my place to-”

Sam doesn’t seem to have the patience for whatever denial he’s about to receive. “Which room?” he demands, steps a little closer. Dean’s not used to seeing his brother like this, actually using his size, the imposing figure he casts to intimidate someone, but it’s quickly apparent that it’s effective, because the man pales a little, grabs a post-it note off his desk and scribbles down a room number. Sam’s gone a moment later without thanks, and Dean’s pretty sure he’ll be lucky if the man doesn’t call the police.

Sam goes straight to the room whose number he’s been given, glances at the Impala again on his way by. There’s no mistaking it for anything but their father’s, and it seems to increase his brother’s determination, lengthen his stride on the way to the room. 

The first thing Sam does is take a deep breath. He seems to steel himself, then knocks, three sharp raps. Several seconds pass without a sound from inside, at which point he apparently loses patience. He tries the door- locked- then sighs.

“Dean? Could you…?” He gestures to the lock, doesn’t need to explain what he means. Sam has the skillset to pick a lock all by himself, but they’re in broad daylight, and Sam draws enough attention as it is right now. Dean doesn’t need any more prompting before he’s focusing on the lock, getting into its inner mechanisms, pushing and pulling and twisting until it comes open with a click. Sam’s smile is thanks enough, and then he’s pushing the door open, slipping inside and shutting it behind himself.

As expected, there’s no one in the room. It doesn’t stop Sam from looking disappointed for a moment, but then he looks around, steps farther inside. Their father’s been here without a doubt; the room’s been warded, and Sam had disturbed a salt line on his way in. Dean nudges it back into place out of habit as his brother investigates further.

One wall has a familiar mosaic of newspaper clippings; photographs and articles detailing a number of disappearances. There are notes scribbled in black marker beside some of them, and it’s very quickly becoming obvious that John had been here on a hunt. Might still be here. 

“He hasn’t been here in a couple days.” Sam seems to pick up on Dean’s train of thought, wrinkles his nose at a half-eaten, abandoned hamburger. “But the car’s still out front…” He frowns, then, steps towards the wall that serves as evidence to their father’s investigation. He reads quietly for a couple minutes, mouthing a few words to himself as his eyes flicker between articles. “Woman in white,” he murmurs, lingering on a printout. “Guess that’s what he was hunting, huh?”

Dean can only agree, because there really isn’t another explanation for the mess in front of them. It still doesn’t explain where John is, where he’s been the past few days, and it’s concerning. 

It’s Sam who ultimately decides to follow the leads that John has left behind, claiming that they should lead them straight to him. He’s probably just gotten distracted, Sam reasons aloud, gotten so far into the case that he’s squatting in some abandoned shack to be closer to the action.

One fake badge, one pissed off police officer, and one daring escape from custody (aided by Dean’s ever-helpful distraction techniques) later, Sam’s no closer to finding John. He has, however, managed to obtain the man’s journal, which is alarming in itself, and though he hasn’t had a chance to go through it, he was presented with his own name and a set of coordinates, the location of which he hasn’t yet looked into.

Since then, he’s tracked down the stretch of road where the disappearances have been happening, and is now driving in the Impala, headed down the so-called haunted highway, and then the woman of white appears in his passenger’s seat and he just swallows hard and keeps driving. 

Dean’s admittedly impressed; it’s been years since his brother’s had to tangle with the supernatural, but he’s sliding back into it like nothing’s changed, doesn’t so much as flinch when the spirit moves closer, touches his arm, whispers _take me home._

“I haven’t been unfaithful,” Sam replies, doesn’t so much as look at her. His hands tighten on the wheel, and Dean knows he’s remembering Jessica, how much it must hurt. “You can’t kill me.”

She doesn’t seem to like that, because then she’s flying at him, only vanishes for a moment as the car swerves. Dean gets it back on track, focuses on continuing the drive to the woman’s house while Sam fights her off, manages to dispel her for a moment with an iron knife.

“Right into the house,” Sam says while she’s gone, a little breathless. “Just- straight through the fucking wall, Dean, I’ve got an idea.”

Dean’s a little skeptical about driving through the wall, no matter how good the idea is, but does as his brother asks, doesn’t stop when they roll onto the old property. He guns it, and the car goes through the rotted wood easily.

Sam stumbles out once they’re inside, barely has time to reach for his gun before the spirit appears again, shoves a dresser at him. Dean almost misses the next part entirely, too focused on getting his brother free, but by the time his attention returns to her, she’s being dragged into the floor, only a wet spot left behind. Sam explains, a little breathlessly, about the children, the ones she’d drowned, how they were what stopped her. Dean doesn’t care about much at this point besides getting his brother somewhere safe, and within a few minutes he’s convinced Sam to head back to the motel.

-

It’s the next morning that has Sam on his laptop, squinting at a little map he’s pulled up with a set of coordinates highlighted in the middle. “Black Water Ridge,” he reads aloud, frowns a little bit. It takes a little more searching to find it’s a conservation area, and not a lot of inference from there to decide that it’s another case.

“It makes sense, Dean,” he’s saying, standing now, pacing, agitation obvious in his movement. “That’s what is was here, right? Maybe if we move fast enough, we’ll catch up to him.”

It’s that, precisely, that Dean’s been dreading. This whole time, he’s been clinging to the hope that he’ll be able to convince his brother to return to Stanford, return to his normal life. Return to somewhere safe. 

It’s clear in Sam’s eyes that he knows what Dean’s thinking, and clear in the frown on his face that he doesn’t agree.

“I can’t go back.” His voice is quiet, subdued as he stands and starts to pack his bag, movements slowed. “I just- I can’t, Dean. I need to find him. I mean, he’s hunting it, right?” Dean doesn’t need clarification, but Sam continues anyways. “The thing that killed her. That- that killed you and Mom.”

That’s all he says for the next little while, while he packs the car and starts driving. It’s another few hours before he continues. “I’m gonna find it, De. It’s gonna pay.”

That’s the end of the conversation, and that’s how Sam starts hunting again for real.

\--

Generally speaking, Sam’s return to the hunting world goes more smoothly than Dean could’ve anticipated. He slips seamlessly back into the routine of finding the crappiest motel in town, holing up and spending hours on his laptop finding out what he’s after before actually going after it. It’s easy, after years of watching John do the same, and Sam doesn’t seem to have a problem following in his footsteps.

That’s the problem, though. They’re still _following_. Sam’s been through another four hunts since the first one in California, and they have yet to actually find their father. They haven’t received any more coordinates since the ones Sam found in the journal, but it isn’t hard to find work. Finding strange obituaries and news reports is usually where they start, and they follow their leads from there.

It’s not just John’s continued absence that’s bothering Dean. Though he wouldn’t have guessed it on his own, their last hunt- chasing the urban legend Bloody Mary, who turned out to be very, disturbingly real- made it clear that his brother is hiding something. Has been for a while, by the sound of things. Sam won’t talk about it, hardly even acknowledges Dean’s attempts to get him to open up about it. It’s frustrating, but Dean knows enough not to push his brother too far. Especially now that they’re on the job again.

They’ve been called in personally this time, by a college friend of Sam’s. It’s not to work a case, exactly, not at first. Becky had initially contacted Sam to let him know her brother had been arrested, charged with murder in the first, and that was all it took to have him making a beeline to St. Louis, Missouri, hunting be damned. 

It doesn’t take long for Sam to decide that Zack’s arrest is their kind of problem. Once he sees the security footage, the way his eyes flare up that screams _not human_ , he’s on the case, following the trail left by the thing straight down into the sewer.

The suspicion that they’re chasing a shapeshifter is confirmed when they come across the piles of abandoned skin. Sam comes close to puking, doesn’t notice the man coming up behind him. Dean manages to fling some debris, distracts it enough that it doesn’t hurt his brother, and then they’re on the move, and Sam’s chasing the thing, climbing back out of the sewer. It's got a head-start, though, and eventually he gives up, starts towards the car again.

“I guess we’ll just have to track it back to its lair again,” he sighs, runs a hand through his hair. His attention shifts, though, when he notices a figure near the Impala, and he starts walking faster. His pace falters when he gets closer, when the figure turns and grins and it’s Sam. 

Everything’s the same, right down to the dimples, and Sam doesn’t really have enough time to react before it’s lunging, knocking him out. Dean can’t do much, a little too stunned to function, to bring himself to attack the creature wearing his baby brother’s skin, just watches as it drags Sam back down into the sewers.

Sam’s tied up by the time he starts coming around, groaning. Dean’s quick to heal the bump on his head, and Sam wakes up a little faster, manages to mumble a thanks as he focuses on the thing standing in front of him. It’s still wearing his skin, and it’s obvious that it throws Sam off, makes him frown.

“’Bout time you woke up.” It sounds like Sam, too, but the sneer it’s wearing looks all wrong on his brother’s face. “I was starting to think I hit you too hard.”

Sam scowls, tries to test the ropes holding him. They’re solid, though. He’s not going anywhere. “What do you want?” he asks, impatient. It’s clear he isn’t amused by the whole situation, and Dean goes to work on the ropes. 

The thing laughs, colder than Sam’s has ever been, and smiles. “I just want someone to love me, Sam. Just the same as you. Must be hard, seeing how you’re such a freak, right?” The grin turns a little darker. “I’ll bet you still blame yourself, don’t you?” Sam stiffens, and Dean doesn’t understand what they’re talking about, but he wants to find out. “You knew, all that time, but you didn’t do _anything_.”

It takes a moment for the pieces to click into place, but the guilt on his brother’s face spurs him on. Dean’s suddenly reminded of the nightmares, how they got progressively worse before Jessica’s death. The fact that Sam never told either of them what they were about.

The shifter pauses a moment, then, and the smile slips away. He half-turns, winces and presses his palm to his temple. It takes him a moment to recover, but then he’s straightening up, the smile growing again. “We could’ve done something to save her. But I suppose that doesn’t matter. You do have someone who loves you, hm? Or some _thing_ , at least.” He doesn’t bother to clarify before turning away, walking back the way they’d come in. “I think I might go pay Becky a visit,” he throws over his shoulder. “She could use a friendly face right now, don’t you think?”

The shifter’s footsteps fade, long gone by the time Dean manages to free Sam’s hands. Sam’s quick to get to his feet, rubs his wrists with a wince. “The hell did he mean, some _thing_?” he mutters, even as he moves to chase after the creature. Dean isn’t bothered, figures it was just trying to mess with Sam.

By the time they’re back at street level, the shifter’s got quite a head start, and Sam starts running, headed straight for Becky’s house. Based on the thing’s history, she’s in for a lot of pain if they don’t get there soon. Dean knows his brother doesn’t want that girl dead, doesn’t want her blood on his hands in any capacity, and he takes the initiative to scout ahead as Sam runs.

He can only go so far without hindering both of them, but once they’re close enough to the house, he goes straight in, searches until he finds Becky, tied up in a chair. The shifter’s back is to him, but it doesn’t look like Sam anymore. It’s shorter, a little broader in the shoulders, and Dean doesn’t understand why the shape is so familiar until Sam’s bursting through the door and it turns to face him and everything stops cold.

It isn’t wearing Sam’s face, it isn’t some random civilian. Dean doesn’t need to get any closer to recognize the green eyes, the freckles. The last drawing was weeks ago, before Jessica was killed, but Dean thinks it’d be impossible to forget his own face. It’s the first time in more than twenty years that he’s seen it in all three dimensions, that it hasn’t been sketched out on a piece of paper, and he wonders distantly if this is how Sam sees him all the time.

If Dean is shocked, Sam is stunned, frozen in place, halfway through the door with his eyes locked on the shifter. “Dean?” he whispers, and it’s a broken sound, but he seems to snap out of it a moment later. Dean attributes it to his confusion that Sam can undoubtedly feel. “You- you’re not him.”

The shifter grins, straightens up casually. “Maybe not yet, but I will be pretty soon.” He winces again, like in the sewer, shakes it off and lets the smile appear again. “What’s wrong, Sammy? Don’t you want to meet your big brother for real? In the flesh?” He steps closer, and then Sam’s got his gun out, has it levelled at the thing’s chest. His hands are shaking. “Aw, don’t be like that.” His smile grows, and he holds his hands out to the side, placating. “He’s dying to meet you, Sam.” A pause. “I am. All this time takin’ care of you, suffering through your bitchfits when I was just doin’ what was best, and you won’t even say hello?”

“You’re not him.” Sam repeats it quietly, and before the shifter can speak again, he’s thrown backwards with the force of the bullets Sam fires into his chest. He’s dead on impact, slumps against the wall. Sam doesn’t look too long, swallows hard and turns his attention to Becky.

His hands are shaky as he unties her, removes the gag from her mouth, and she’s talking as soon as It’s gone. “Sam, what… what was that?” she whispers, eyes a little wide. “And- did it say you had a brother?”

“It was messing with me.” Sam doesn’t clarify any further than that, doesn’t meet her eyes as he unties her. She goes straight into his chest once she’s free, and he holds her carefully until she stops crying. Dean doesn’t listen as he tells her exactly what she’s going to tell the police, how to get the murders pined on the dead man on the floor instead of her brother. He’s too busy looking at the body- at his body, somehow, impossibly- and trying to convince himself that he isn’t jealous. It doesn’t work.

-

The way back to the motel is quiet. Sam’s never really had the same grasp of their bond that he imagines Dean must, to be able to manipulate it the way he often does. He’s never had the need to before. But after seeing Dean in the flesh for the first time, there’s a mess of emotions swirling low in his gut that he doesn’t want Dean to pick up on. He doesn’t know what they mean, exactly, but he won’t chance the possibility of his brother figuring it out before he does.

He feels for it as soon as they return to the room, sits down on the edge of the bed and focuses. He can feel concern that isn’t his own, but ignores it for the moment, focuses on narrowing the bond as best he can. The muffled confusion tells him that he’s successful, and he breathes a quiet sigh of relief. He’s always been better at ignoring these sorts of problems than facing them outright.

-

Dean doesn’t really understand what’s happening, at first, when the sense of _Sam_ that’s always with him seems to quiet. He tries focusing, but he can’t pick up on as much as he’s usually able to. It quickly becomes apparent, though, that it’s Sam’s doing; he looks relieved, a little guilty. Dean decides to leave it alone for now, settles into an uneasy acceptance of their newly-limited connection. It lets him focus, again, on the issues he has with having seen himself brought to life.

It isn’t _fair_ , and suddenly it’s all he can think about. He does a little connection-dulling of his own, a reflex now as he’s overwhelmed by exactly how upset he is about this whole situation. That shifter was what he could have been, had that thing not killed him all those years ago. It’s never hit him quite as hard as it does now how different things could be if he were only alive. Really alive, not caught in his own unique brand of half-existence. It’s frustrating beyond words, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do about it.

\--

They never do talk about the nightmares. Dean isn’t sure if Sam knows that he’s figured them out, but it doesn’t come up, and he doesn’t push it. He can’t help but be curious, though. Remembers how shaken Sam’d been after the hunt with Bloody Mary. Wonders if it’s related at all, because his brother hadn’t told him what he’d done to lure her in.

It doesn’t seem like they’re ever going to mention it again, right up until Sam wakes up sweaty, eyes wide and scared, and then they’re on their way to Lawrence for a reason Dean can’t really discern. 

He decides he’s had enough of the secrecy, the lies between them, and tries prodding Sam for answers on their way there. To his brother’s credit, he holds out for the first couple hours, but eventually, he heaves a sigh, gives up.

“I have these nightmares,” he says quietly, seemingly out of the blue. Dean doesn’t respond besides offering his own wordless version of _duh._ “And sometimes- sometimes they come true.”

It makes sense, suddenly, what the shifter had said. How Sam dreamt Jessica’s death before it happened, that he feels guilty for doing nothing to stop it. Dean doesn’t know how to respond, but Sam continues before he can figure it out.

“I saw a woman screaming. And she was…” He hesitates a moment. “She was in our house. Our old house. She needed help, Dean.”

That’s all the explanation Sam offers, and the rest of the drive is quiet. Dean’s left to wonder what’s going on, why it’s happening in their old house, of all places. Wonders if it has anything to do with what killed their mother all those year ago, what killed him. The way Sam grimaces suggests he’s following the same train of thought. There’s no way to confirm or deny the theory until they investigate, though, so Sam just keeps driving.

-

After meeting Jenny and getting a run-down of what’s been happening in the house, it’s obvious that something supernatural is at play. It sounds like a textbook case of some kind of malevolent spirit, but there’s no way to know what’s going on until they can investigate properly. With Jenny and her kids in the house, though, it doesn’t seem like they’re going to be able to look around in the immediate future. It’s not until Jenny’s daughter pipes up about the flaming ghost in her closet that they get any real, solid connection to the thing that killed their mother.

Dean’s a little bit distracted. He can’t shake the feeling being back in the house gives him, can’t decide whether it’s nostalgia or some kind of uneasiness from whatever presence is lingering or a combination of the two, but when Sam leaves, drags him along, he can’t tell if he’s relieved to be out or aching to return. Sam doesn’t notice right away, speaking lowly whether to Dean or himself.

“We can’t just make them leave, but they’re in trouble, and we can’t really tell Jenny what’s going on…” He pauses, trails off as he reaches the car. “De? You okay?”

Dean realizes just how much his mind has been wandering, makes himself focus again. It doesn’t matter how weird the house makes him feel; they have a job to do and people to save. Sam seems to take that as enough, nods a little to himself as he gets in the car.

“Guess we’ve got to find some witnesses to talk to,” he murmurs, twisting the key in the ignition and heading into town.

That’s what starts Sam hunting down their father’s old friends, talking to anyone who’ll give him the time of day and trying to figure out what happened on November 2nd, 1983. Ultimately, the man who used to own an autoshop with their father knows enough to send them in the right direction, a phonebook and then John’s journal, and then finally, to the front door of Missouri Mosely, who greets Sam like a nephew she hasn’t seen in a while and who looks straight at Dean with a vaguely disapproving look that catches him off-guard.

“Haven’t seen you since you were just a tiny thing,” she says to Sam, offers him a warm smile as she ushers him to sit down. Missouri settles across from him, becomes a little more somber as she takes his hand. “But you’re not here just to visit.”

Sam blinks a couple times, but nods slowly. Dean wonders how much his brother remembers from their visit here when they were younger, how much Missouri had been able to sense back then. His own memory is just reaffirmed when she scoffs, glances in his direction.

“He was just a child, Dean,” she scolds, and he feels a little affronted. “’Course he don’t remember much. Not after everything his daddy put him through at that facility.”

Dean doesn’t have time to be surprised before Sam’s responding. “How did you-?” He cuts himself off, shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. You know why I’m here, right?”

“Yes.” She sighs, lets go of his hand to sit back a little bit. “You think there’s something in your house again.”

“I want to know if it’s the thing that caused the fire.” Sam visibly steels himself. “And how I can kill it.”

Missouri looks at him with something akin to pity before wiping it away. “I can come see the house. I haven’t felt anything recently, but…” She hesitates a moment. “I could be wrong.”

Her doubt is enough to have Dean wondering if maybe the whole thing is a coincidence. If this is just another haunting that happens to be taking place in their childhood home. He can’t help but hope it’s that simple.

-

Though it isn’t quite a standard ghost- poltergeists are nasty as best- Missouri assures them that it isn’t the thing that killed their mother. Sam can’t seem to decide whether he’s disappointed or relieved. Dean’s stuck on the warning that it isn’t the only spirit hanging around. And he can _feel_ it, like it’s a physical presence, wonders if it’s the same sort of sense Missouri has.

It doesn’t matter at the moment, though. All they need to worry about is purifying the house and getting the poltergeist out, keeping Jenny and her kids safe. 

For the most part, it goes smoothly. Sam almost gets strangled to death, but Dean’s able to wrestle it down, feels like he’s grappling with a physical force when he loosens the lamp’s cord enough for Sam to escape, to kick the wall in and shove the protective hex bag in place. He’s still concerned, still uses energy healing his brother unnecessarily- as Sam’s quick to scold him for when he gets his breath back- but it turns out fine, all things considered.

Even after they’re done, though, Dean can’t shake a feeling of uneasiness. Sam heads down to meet Missouri, and it quickly becomes obvious that he feels the same way.

“That’s it?” he asks, glancing around like he expects the cutlery to start flying around again. Nothing moves, though, and he frowns a little bit.

“That’s it,” Missouri confirms. Dean isn’t quite sure he believes her- he can still feel _something_ , though he isn’t quite sure what- but there’s nothing he can really say on the matter. “The house has been purified. Jenny and her kids should be safe now.”

Jenny returns, a little while later, obviously startled by the state of the house- furniture scattered, pictures askew, forks and knives scattered at random- but Missouri takes some time to reassure her while Sam starts cleaning up with some assistance from Dean.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” Sam asks quietly. Dean doesn’t need any clarification, and his agreement makes Sam sigh, look around nervously. “Maybe we can hang around another day. Just in case.” 

It seems like the best course of action, and that’s how they end up on a mini-stakeout, on the street out in front of the house, Sam watching the house with pretty admirable vigilance. It’s been hours, though, and nothing has happened yet, and Dean probably would’ve been inclined to suggest they leave had he not felt the presence himself. It wouldn’t sit right with him to leave without some kind of closure, and that mentality pays off a moment later when Sam spots something.

It’s Jenny, in the upstairs window, mouth open in a scream they can’t hear, and seconds later Sam’s out of the car, only stopping long enough to arm himself before heading for the front door.

“Dean, go after Jenny!” he snaps, and Dean doesn’t have the time to question it, just goes straight upstairs while his brother heads to where the kids are. 

Jenny’s in her room, struggling with the door- it’s not opening, and Dean suspects it’s the poltergeist’s doing- and she’s obviously terrified, so Dean takes it upon himself to get into the door’s mechanisms, the lock that won’t open, crushing it and letting the door swing open wide under Jenny’s hands. It leaves him feeling oddly exhausted, but he doesn’t bother worrying about that, just follows Jenny to make sure she gets out of the house safely. The kids are already outside, and Jenny runs straight to them. Dean only lingers long enough to make sure they come together before returning to his brother.

Sam’s in the kitchen, pinned against a wall, breathing hard as he tries to move. Dean goes straight to work trying to get him free, concentrates so hard he almost misses one, whispered word altogether.

“Mom?”

It’s enough to get Dean’s attention, though, and he looks, and where first there’s only fire, the vague outline of a human shape, seconds later there’s Mary Winchester, wearing the same nightgown she had on the night of the fire, all those years ago. She’s holding something that Dean recognizes, distantly, from his childhood; a ratty old blanket, straight from his crib, something he’d never let go of until it was lost in the fire.

“Sam,” she replies, just as soft, a little bit of a smile on her face as she steps closer. She stops, suddenly, turns her head, and there’s some cocktail of shock, relief, and an overwhelming sense of love in her eyes when she looks directly at Dean.

“Dean.” It’s a whisper, but it’s the first time Dean’s heard his mother say his name in over twenty years, and it’s enough to stop him short, leaving him feel what he can only describe as breathless. Her eyes turn back to Sam a moment later, and they soften a little. “I’m sorry.” 

Sam’s clearly as confused as Dean, but his whispered “for what?” doesn’t get a response. Mary just gives him a sad little smile before turning, eyes directed upwards, to the spot where Dean can pinpoint the malevolent energy coming from the poltergeist’s continued presence.

Their mother’s voice isn’t gentle anymore when she speaks again. “Get out of my house,” she says, takes another step forward. “And let go of my son.” 

A moment later, she’s aflame again, flies towards the thing’s energy- and then they’re both gone, seemingly consumed by each other, and Sam’s stumbling a little bit as he’s released from the wall. It takes him a moment to collect himself, to catch his breath, and he swallows hard.

“ _Now_ it’s over,” he says quietly, seems a little relieved as a tiny smile makes itself known. That’s the end of the matter, apparently, and Sam takes a moment to get his legs back under him before heading out of the house.

-

Jenny’s happy to hear that the problem’s been solved, gives Sam a quick hug before heading back inside with her kids. Missouri watches with a smile before turning to Sam, and she looks a little bit guilty, of all things.

“You knew it was still there, didn’t you?” she asks, though it sounds like she already knows. “Even when I didn’t.”

Sam doesn’t look like he knows how to respond to that, so he just shrugs a moment later, looks a little helpless. “What’s happening to me?” he asks softly, and Dean can hear enough uneasiness in his voice that he’s inclined to do whatever soothing he can.

“I don’t know,” she replies with a sigh. “I can’t see it.”

It takes a little prodding from Dean, but Sam moves on a moment later. “Is she really gone now?” 

It seems that Missouri doesn’t need any clarification. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Her energy and the poltergeist’s- they cancelled each other out. She sacrificed herself to save you.”

It takes Sam a moment to absorb that, and he nods slowly. “Why d’you think she was hanging around at all?” And it’s obvious why he’s asking; usually spirits that stay on the mortal plane have unfinished business, can’t let themselves rest for one reason or another.

It’s then that Missouri does that unsettling thing where she looks directly at Dean again, just for a moment, before turning back to Sam. “I expect she wanted to know you boys were okay. Wanted to know what happened to Dean. Knowing you two are together probably let here rest peacefully.”

Sam swallows hard, looks away, and Dean takes a moment to reassure him, remind him that she’s right. That they’re together, and as long as that’s true, everything’s going to be fine.

“Thanks, Missouri.” Sam manages a bit of a smile. “For everything.”

“Of course, Sam.” She returns the smile, a little bigger, a little more genuine. “You boys take care, now. Don’t be strangers.”

Sam nods a bit, smiles again before climbing into the car. He starts her up, seems eager to put Lawrence in the rearview mirror. Dean can’t blame him; the place has too many memories he doesn’t want to face. 

Soon enough, they’re back on the open road, headed nowhere in particular until they can find another job.

\--

It’s been a few weeks since the case in Lawrence, and Sam’s in between jobs, settled in some no-name motel, resting up before he finds some other monster to chase after. It’s getting late, and he’s heading into the shower. He doesn’t really need it- Dean thinks the kid’s almost ridiculously hygienic, considering his profession of choice- so Dean’s a little curious, makes an effort to hide it while Sam strips down.

Everything seems pretty routine up until Sam leans back against the shower wall, hot water still pounding down on him, and reaches down, takes his half-hard cock in his hand and strokes it slowly.

It’s been a little while since Sam last got off. Dean knows it, and he suspects that Sam’s almost painfully aware of the fact. Dean had decided some time ago that it probably has something to do with losing Jessica, but never tries to prod at the subject, knows it’s a sore spot. It’s almost something of a relief to see his brother getting back into it, like maybe he’s starting to recover a little bit.

It starts the way it always does- Dean’s sort of intimately familiar with his brother’s habits- with slow strokes as Sam works himself to full hardness, and Sam’s eyes are closed like he’s imagining himself somewhere else. Just like always, Dean can’t help but wonder where that somewhere else might be.

Once Sam really starts getting into it, speeding up and twisting his wrist and swiping his thumb over the head, Dean starts to work on tuning the whole thing out, as he’s gotten used to doing over the years. But he can’t quite bring himself to leave the room, has never been able to. There’s something almost addictive about being around Sam like this, and it’s different than it was when he was with Jessica. This is just Sam, just his brother, and they’ve always been together anyways, so there can’t be any real harm in his listening in.

Sam isn’t usually very vocal when he does this- living in such tight quarters with their father while he grew up sort of discouraged that- but this time he seems to be letting himself go a little. It’s soft moans at first, sounds that Dean desperately tries to ignore for reasons he can’t pinpoint, but then it becomes more, becomes whispers of _”fuck,_ just like that,” little hitches of breath as he goes faster, gets closer. Dean knows this shouldn’t be affecting him quite the way it is, but that doesn’t change the feelings the whole thing is stirring up, feelings he’s never really had opportunity to experience before.

It doesn’t stop there, though. Because as Sam loses his rhythm, moves his hand faster and faster until he’s just at the edge of his orgasm, he doesn’t come with the usual stifled moan, doesn’t even say Jessica’s name.

“Fuck, _Dean_.”

Dean doesn’t hear anything immediately after that, doesn’t notice the way Sam’s eyes snap open and widen a little in horror. He’s too caught up in those two words, in the way his own name had sounded, wrenched from his brother’s lips at the peak of his pleasure. It amplifies that feeling he can’t name, and Dean’s almost dizzy with it, distracted enough that it takes him several moments to realize that Sam seems to be crying.

“Oh, God, Dean, I’m so sorry, I didn’t- I didn’t mean it, it just- it was a mistake,” he manages, stutters out, and he sounds like he’s on the verge of panic. It occurs to Dean that his own confusion probably isn’t helping; he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel right now, can’t quite settle on any feeling in particular, so he tries to pick one, tries to settle down for Sam’s sake. It doesn’t work, so he resorts to what he’s sort of determined to be his emergency-only move, something he hasn’t actually done since Sam tried to kill himself. He shuts down their connection, cuts it off while he tries to collect himself.

In hindsight, Dean’s pretty sure he should’ve known that wouldn’t be received well.

Sam goes still, stops breathing for a moment. But then he’s talking again, sounds dangerously close to hyperventilating. “Dean, please, I’m sorry, don’t leave, De, I- I need you, you’re just-” He needs a moment, swallows thickly. “You’re all I’ve got.” And it’s so reminiscent of their conversation last time, and it makes Dean wonder how, exactly, this feels on Sam’s end.

Regardless, it’s making things worse instead of better, so Dean re-establishes their link, doesn’t bother going slowly. Sam visibly loses his breath for a moment as he’s flooded with apologies, with attempts to calm him down, and he’s quiet for a moment while he takes it in.

“No, you- it’s my fault,” he mumbles, wipes at his eyes in what looks like an attempt to hide the lingering tears. “It’s… I’m sorry, God, I don’t know what I…” He trails off, takes a deep breath, and seems to decide they’ve had enough of the subject. He turns his attention back to showering properly, and his hands are a little shaky as he cleans them off.

Dean goes back to trying to sort through his feelings, though a little more calmly, a little quieter. He’s more than a little startled when he realizes that he’s almost _disappointed_ , can’t decide what stemmed it.

They don’t talk about the incident again, and Sam barely says a word as he hunches over his laptop, keeps looking for a case. There’s a frustrating lack of leads, and Sam ends up deciding to hit the road regardless. They leave the motel, back on the road like they always are, but it’s hard to ignore the near-stifling silence. Dean wonders if something’s changed between them, something they won’t be able to fix.

\--

They’ve just crossed the border into Iowa when Sam’s phone starts ringing. He doesn’t pull over, just reaches over and flips it open, glances down at the screen long enough to frown. It only takes a quick glance for Dean to figure out why.

The number isn’t listed, and the text message is nothing but a set of coordinates. They don’t need to speak; both of them know there’s only one person it can be. 

At the next diner Sam stops over in, he pulls up the coordinates, finds a town in Illinois called Rockford. It doesn’t take much more digging to pull up an article about a local murder-suicide, a cop who killed his wife and then himself. It’s a case from their father, and it might not be a map to his location, but it’s the first Sam’s heard from him since he got the journal, and he’ll take whatever he can get.

-

Sam’s first stop is a bar where he manages to track down the partner of the officer involved in the killing, and it doesn’t take long for him to find out about the asylum they were investigating prior to the incident. From there, it’s just a matter of some research, some digging through John’s journal before they find out about it’s supposed haunting, the disappearances that’ve happened there in the past. Sam finds out about the living son of the asylum’s late chief of staff. Unlike most of their witnesses and informants, though, it quickly becomes apparent that they’re not going to have an easy time getting the information they want out of him.

Eventually, Sam settles on booking an appointment- the man’s a therapist, of all things- and figures that within his hour, he’ll be able to work some vital clue as to what happened in the asylum out of the man. 

Within a couple minutes of the appointment, Dean’s pretty sure it won’t be that easy.

“You’re avoiding the subject,” Dr. Ellicott says, sounds vaguely annoyed about it. “We’re not here to talk about me, Sam. We’re here to talk about _you_.”

Understandably, Sam’s not all too eager on that subject. “I know, yeah, of course. Just- I really would love to hear more about the riots-”

“Tell you what.” The doctor cuts him off, gives him a placating look. “You tell me something honest about yourself, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know about the asylum.”

It’s clear that Sam doesn’t want to say much of anything about himself, but it seems like the best deal he’s going to get. He straightens up, nods a little bit. “Alright, sounds fair.”

Dr. Ellicott seems incredibly pleased with himself, and he smiles. “Good. Now, why don’t we start with your family? Tell me about your parents.”

Dean’s pretty sure the guy couldn’t have picked a worse opener. Sam tenses up again, looks away. “My mom died when I was little,” he says tightly, moves on before the man can express his condolences. “And I haven’t talked to my dad in years.” Apparently, the coordinates aren’t good enough for him to count as real communication. Dean can’t really blame him.

Even if Sam hates the question, it’s readily apparent that Dr. Ellicott loves the answer. Dean figures dead parents and daddy issues are probably what pay his bills. “So you don’t get along with your father?” It’s supposed to be a question, but it doesn’t really sound like one.

Sam snorts. Now that they’re talking about it, it looks like he’s more than happy to tell the good doctor exactly how he feels about the man. “Yeah, that’s putting it lightly,” he mutters, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “I wanted to go to college, and he told me to stay gone. Figured I should’ve stuck with the family business.”

“So you felt alone? Isolated because you didn’t want what he wanted?” More questions. It makes Dean wonder if therapists are allowed to make statements or if questioning everything is part of their job description.

Sam shrugs, then, posture easing up a little. “I don’t know. I guess. Dad was always there, but never… _there_. It’s always just been me and Dean.”

Dean figures he’d have been more surprised by his inclusion if this wasn’t for a case. It’s not like this man knows them personally, would recognize his name in any capacity. All the same, the man’s obviously intrigued, perking up again.

“Dean? Is he… a brother?” he guesses, and Sam nods.

“Older brother,” he confirms. “He, uh… he’s just always been around, y’know?” 

Dr. Ellicott nods, leans forward in what seems like rehearsed intrigue. “Tell me about him. What’s your relationship like?”

And then Sam hesitates, glances up into empty space. Dean recognizes the gesture as a reminder of his own presence, and he takes the hint. Sam won’t be comfortable talking about him so openly with him floating around listening, and it’s the only way that they’re going to get the information they need for this case. 

Dean figures he doesn’t have much of a choice, sends Sam a feeling akin to _good luck_ before letting himself drift, heading back into the lobby to wait it out. He doesn’t expect that a whole lot can go wrong with his brother and a therapist who looks like he’d lose a round against a particularly feisty teenage girl, but he stays vigilant anyways, waits for any sign of distress his brother might give off.

-

Sam feels himself relax as Dean’s presence lessens, seems to distance itself a little. He recognizes the feeling from the time he had with Jessica, knows his brother is giving him space for what’s probably going to end up being a pretty awkward conversation if Ellicott manages to get him to tell the truth. He intends to cast Dean as who he is; a good brother, the best, even, without the whole issue about not having a body. He figures he’ll satisfy the man’s need to psychoanalyze him, get the information about the asylum, and head out so he can burn some bones or whatever else.

It seems, though, that it’s not going to be quite that easy.

“You seem rather fond of him,” Dr. Ellicott notes, sounds like he’s not sure whether to push further or not. Apparently, his curiosity wins out. “Tell me more about your relationship. How do you feel about him?”

It’s a pretty straightforward question, all things considered, but the answer is complicated enough that Sam doesn’t really know where to start. “It’s… complicated,” is what he eventually settles on, making a face.

“Family tends to be.” Ellicott shrugs, and Sam almost laughs, because he has _no idea_. “Just try. Start throwing words out.”

Sam’s about ready to give up on the whole endeavour, find the information somewhere else, but they’re on a timeline and he’s not going to risk more lives because he can’t suck it up and talk about his feelings. “He’s… protective,” he says hesitantly. “Like, really protective. Always has been, since I was little. He’s kind of a dick about it sometimes, too. Takes it too far.” The words start coming easier after that. “But he means well. And he’s always on my side, with stuff with Dad, and he’ll always back me up, and he’s always taken care of me, and been there when other people weren’t.” Sam swallows hard, feels a little too emotional about this whole thing for his liking. “He’s just… he’s really important to me.” He probably doesn’t say that enough, even if it’s obvious.

Dr. Ellicott nods slowly, seems oddly enraptured. “He’s the most important person in your life.” Sam doesn’t respond, but the man continues all the same. “Where is he now?”

Sam only hesitates for a moment. “Around town somewhere. We’re travelling together right now.” It’s basically the truth, anyways. “Now, about the asylum-”

He’s cut off by Dr. Ellicott. “Just one last question, Sam. Have you ever had…” And it’s the doctor’s turn to hesitate, clearing his throat before pressing on. “Have you ever thought about Dean in a… different way? As something besides a brother?”

That question stops Sam short, makes him forget how to breathe for a moment. He’s suddenly reminded of the shower incident, of how for that split second, all he could see was _Dean_ , Dean the way he looked when the shifter had worn his skin, Dean as a living, breathing person. A painfully beautiful person. It’d been different than knowing how his brother looked, different than drawing those images out. For that split second, Sam had been given a taste of what it could be like, what _Dean_ could be like. It’s more painful to think about than it is enjoyable, now; he still isn’t sure where their relationship stands because of his mistake, because he’d let the name slip.

It seems that Sam’s deer-in-the-headlights look, his hesitation and his silence are enough for Dr. Ellicott. He nods to himself, apparently satisfied, and settles back in his chair, folding his hands on his desk. “So, you want to know about the Roosevelt Riot.”

Sam manages a shaky nod, makes himself focus as he’s given the information he came for.

-

Dean perks up as soon as Sam returns from the office, curls around his brother to reassure himself of Sam’s presence. He’s still not all that used to letting Sam out of his sight for extended periods of time, so he can’t help but be a little anxious about it.

“I’m fine, Dean, chill,” Sam mumbles, sounds a little embarrassed. “Got the info. There was a riot in the south wing, all the patients. Ton of deaths, ton of missing bodies.”

Sam gives him the full run-down, and it doesn’t take a whole lot to find out more about the asylum’s south wing, the difficult patients who were kept there and the sort of experiments that were performed on them by none other than Dr. Ellicott’s father.

They visit the building during the day and find nothing- no EMF, no homicidal ghosts- so they make the decision to come back after dark. Sam spends the day resting up, making sure he’s fully prepared for whatever they’re going to find inside.

-

The pair of teenagers they find inside obviously don’t know what they’ve gotten into, and Sam ends up having to drag them around with him for half the hunt. Eventually, he just leaves them by the door, gives the girl a shotgun- she seems like the more competent of the two- and heads back inside to room one-thirty-seven. Sam gathers the journals there to look into later, moves to continue investigating. It’s Dean that ends up directing him down to the basement, to the malevolent energy he can feel that originates there, and that’s when the ghost makes its first appearance.

“Don’t be scared,” it whispers as it approaches Sam, in a tone that Dean’s pretty sure suggests the exact opposite. “I’ll make you better.”

And before either of them can do anything- Ellicott knocks the shotgun clear out of Sam’s hands- he’s on Sam, hands going straight to his temples, and there are _sparks_ coming from his fingers, and the ghost vanishes as his brother hits the floor.

Dean panics. He can tell Sam’s still alive, but he seems to be unconscious. It only lasts a few seconds, though, and then he’s getting up, moving slowly but surely, blinks a few times. 

Dean’s still frantic, moves in close, tries to find something to heal. There’s nothing, though, no injury that he’s able to detect. Sam doesn’t seem _right_ , though, something dead in his eyes, and Dean’s about to demand what’s wrong with him when Sam speaks.

“Do you even realize what it’s like? Having you around like this?” He sounds almost amazed, like he’s just coming to realize some important truth. “I don’t get to have anyone else. It’s just- it’s just _you_. All the time, Dean. That’s- you’re the one who did this to me.”

Dean’s lost, worried and confused and _pissed_ at the ghost for doing something to his brother. Since Sam seems distracted, he takes it upon himself to start looking, searching the room for the body they need to burn. He expects it’s nearby, what with Ellicott’s appearance, so it’s just a matter of finding whatever nook or cranny it’s been stuffed into and lighting it up. Sam seems to have forgotten that part of their goal entirely, though.

“I’m like this because of you.” Sam laughs, shakes his head with disbelief. “I thought it was me. Thought I was a _freak_. But it’s you, it’s your fault. Driving everyone away, not letting me like anyone else? You-” He shakes his head hard. “It wouldn’t have happened. It was that stupid _fucking_ shapeshifter, gave me something to want, huh?”

Dean freezes, focuses on Sam again. Because his brother’s going in directions that he’s pretty sure they agreed not to talk about without saying anything at all, and he’s not sure he’s ready for anything resembling this conversation.

“But it had to go and pick _you_ ,” Sam whispers, turns away and scrubs a hand down his face. “Had to turn into you, and it- it was different. Always knew how you looked, but fuck, I never got to _see_ you, and it’s your fault, your fault it’s doing this to me, fucking me up.” 

Even as Dean tries to tune him out- even as he finds the secret room beside the one they’re on, goes right on inside and starts searching- it’s impossible not to hear what Sam’s saying, to understand what the words imply.

“I can’t even look at other people anymore, it’s just- all I can think is that they’re not _you_.” His voice breaks a little, and even though some part of Dean knows it isn’t really his brother talking, he can’t help the little stab of guilt that causes. “It fucking ruined me. _You_ did.”

That’s when Dean finds a little cupboard, off in the corner of the room. Sam seems to sense that he’s moved away, and it only takes him a moment to find the partition between the two rooms, and then he’s kicking it down, like he needs to be nearby to tell Dean these things. Dean opens the cupboard and a corpse falls out, old and half-rotted, and it’s the one they need, he can feel it, but Sam _won’t fucking focus_.

“I could’ve been happy with Jess,” he’s saying, and Dean’s just getting frustrated now, irritated, wants his brother to get his head back in the case. It’s mostly unintentional when he yanks the sheet that Sam’s standing on, pulls it right out from under him, and he’s halfway through something that sounds like “I could’ve been _normal_ -” when he falls, smacks his head against the ground and he’s out cold.

The sound makes Dean wince, but he takes the opportunity, puts off the guilt and concern for a moment while he finds the accelerant, douses the body with salt and then lights it, watches as it burns. He can _feel_ the moment to spirit dies, moves on to whatever afterlife it’s got to look forward to, and then all his attention is back on his brother.

Sam’s not bleeding, but Dean takes a moment to heal the bump that’s forming, to gently coax Sam into consciousness again. He wakes slowly, blinks his eyes open before sitting up abruptly. “Where- the ghost-?”

Dean soothes him, and it only takes Sam a moment to see the smouldering remains, to relax a little. “Oh,” he breathes, the tension going out of his shoulders. “Okay. Thanks, Dean.”

He doesn’t say anything about what the ghost did to him, doesn’t make any indication as to whether or not he remembers it. He stands, collects himself, and heads out, makes his way to where he left the teenagers. They’re fine, and the three of them head out relatively unharmed, the younger two sent off with reassurances and a vague sort of promise not to tell anyone too much. Sam heads back to the car, and he makes his way back to the motel, doesn’t say a word the whole way. It leaves Dean uneasy, unsure, and he doesn’t like it at all.

-

Sam’s quiet, gets himself some breakfast and heads back to the motel again. He isn’t talking to Dean the way he usually does when they’re alone, and it’s worrying. But Dean doesn’t push, figures his brother will speak up when he’s ready- but, admittedly, if that isn’t soon, he might go crazy with concern and frustration.

Sam’s packing up to leave when he finally brings it up. 

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t look up from where he’s carefully folding clothes and piling them in his bag. It’s something of a nervous habit for him, from Dean’s observations over the years. Under normal conditions, he isn’t really bothered about his bag being quite this neat. “I didn’t… I don’t know what he did. But it just- it made me angry. Just… really, really angry. And it didn’t make sense, what I was saying, it just…” He swallows hard. Dean realizes that they’re finally talking about this, and he doesn’t know how to feel about it. 

“It was different, seeing it- seeing _you_ like that,” he says softly. He’s not packing anymore, hands trembling a little bit where he’s holding one of his shirts. “You’ve always been real, but… but not like that.” He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, puts the shirt down and moves to sit down heavily on the edge of the bed. “It was- it was _you_. And I wanted you so bad.” His voice breaks on the last word.

Dean’s not sure how to respond, at first. Because he wants Sam to be okay, but there’s absolutely nothing he can do to fix this. He doesn’t have a physical form, hasn’t since he was a toddler, and there’s no way he can imagine getting one any time in the near future. So instead of trying to reassure Sam, he just offers an apology. This just isn’t a problem he can solve.

“Not your fault,” Sam mumbles, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “And m’sorry I said it was.”

They don’t get any further than that with the conversation. Sam finishes packing up and they head out, just putting some distance between them and Rockford while they try to figure out another case to follow.

There’s something that’s changed between them. There’s something new there, or maybe just something newly acknowledged, but it’s different, and Dean finds himself thinking about it more than he probably really should. After all, it’s not as if there’s anything he can do to pursue the issue.

\--

Sam’s woken up in the middle of the night, a few days after they leave Rockford. His phone’s ringing, which is strange in and of itself- it’s not like he receives a whole lot of phone calls- and he frowns at it for a moment before picking it up, squinting at the bright display like it’s going to tell him something. Dean’s a little groggy, freshly pulled out of not-sleep, takes a moment to get the world to come into focus as Sam’s answering the call.

“Hello?” he says, voice rough with sleep. But then he sits up, expression caught between disbelief and confusion. “…Dad?”

That’s enough to get Dean up properly, and he moves in close, not sure whether he should be excited or not. He tones it down, though, focuses on listening to Sam’s side of the conversation. “Are you hurt? No, I’m fine... Where are you?”

Dean’s pretty sure that if it would be that easy, they’d have stumbled upon John ages ago. He’s not surprised by the frustration on Sam’s face. “What? Why not?” A long silence before he speaks again. “You’re after it, aren’t you? The thing that killed them.”

That’s what gets Dean really interested, makes him ache to know what’s happening on the other end of the phone. His curiosity is only increased by his brother’s continued questioning. “A demon? You know for sure?”

The silence is longer this time, and Sam swallows hard, looking down. “You know where it is.” It isn’t a question, and Sam continues a moment later. “Let me help.”

There’s no way John’s going to say yes. Dean knows it for a fact; if he’d wanted Sam’s help hunting the thing- because it sounds like that’s what he’s doing- then he’d have contacted him earlier, gotten him on the phone instead of sending a series of cryptic texts. The theory is only proven as Sam starts to protest. “Why not?” A pause, and then “names? What names? Dad, what- talk to me. Just… just tell me what’s going on.”

It’s never been that easy with John, though, and it’s obvious that Sam isn’t in the mood to take whatever bullshit he’s being given. “A _case_? Let someone else have it- like Bobby! Or one of his contacts! I don’t know, just-” He makes a frustrated sound, almost a growl. “No, alright? No way.” 

It’s dissolving rapidly into one of their old fights, the ones that end in raised voices and broken lamps, and Dean’s not sure how they’re going to manage that over the phone, but he doesn’t doubt they’ll find a way. He decides he isn’t going to let it escalate that far, though, not this time. Besides, there’s a case to be dealt with, and if it’s being given to Sam, Dean can’t imagine their father wants to handle it himself. 

He picks an ugly clock he’s been eyeing since they got here, the thing just begging to be ruined, and smashes the face of it, takes probably too much enjoyment out of it. Sam’s head jerks up, frustration turning into confusion when he sees the clock.

“Dean? What’s wrong?” He ignores whatever John says, pulls the phone away from his ear for a moment. “Don’t tell me you’re _agreeing_ with him.”

He definitely isn’t, and he makes that obvious before continuing, before doing what he can to convince Sam to calm down. He’s tired, he’s upset, and he isn’t thinking straight, and this isn’t the best time for him to be making decisions, in Dean’s humble opinion.

It takes a long moment, and it sounds like John’s demanding to know what’s happening through the phone, but then Sam sighs. “Fine,” he mutters, meant only for Dean. “No fighting. Got it.” He returns to the phone, then, pinches the bridge of his nose. He sighs, then mutters “give me the names.” It seems like the end of the matter, and Dean’s just glad the two of them are done fighting for the moment. Sam takes down the names, and the call ends without any real goodbye. Within a few minutes, they’re packed up and on the road again.

-

At the first rest stop they make, Sam calls Bobby.

It takes him a few minutes to get past the initial bombardment of questions, the _where the hell have you been_ and _what happened_ and _what do you mean, you’re hunting again?_ Sam skims over the details, gets a little choked up when he mentions Jessica, moves on quickly to explain the situation with John. He hands off the hunt to Bobby, asks him to _handle it, please, I need to find him_ , and promises he’ll visit soon before ending the call. 

He takes a moment, a deep breath, and then he’s looking through his phone, squinting at the number their father used to call. It only takes a couple minutes on his laptop to pinpoint the area code to California, probably a payphone, and then he’s up and heading to the car again.

Dean’s still not really sure about this course of action, but Sam obviously seems determined. 

“I’ve gotta find him, De,” he murmurs, slides into the driver’s side and gets the car started. “He knows something. More than he’s telling me, and…” He sighs, squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “It was a demon. That caused the fire. With Mom, and Jess.” He swallows hard. “And he’s after it, and I need to help. Even if he doesn’t want it. He’s not doing it by himself.”

That’s the end of the conversation, and then they’re driving, heading south. Sam’s determined to track their father down, apparently, and Dean can’t really see any way to stop him. If he’s perfectly honest with himself, he can’t see any reason why he should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first of all, I'm so sorry this took so long. School's kind of a mess, and I rewatched like half of season one to refresh myself on stuff, and. Yeah. I was originally going to do all of season one in this chapter, but a) it was taking forever, and b) it was going to be like 25k by the time I was done, so. Yes. 
> 
> Also, I know I didn't go into a lot of detail for most of the cases, but I figured that wasn't really what I was trying to focus on for a lot of it. And considering it's season one, which I expect most (if not all) of you know pretty well, I didn't want to bore anyone going over things you were already familiar with.
> 
> A general heads-up: exams start next week, so. Yeah. Not gonna be writing. But after that I've got three weeks of winter break, so hopefully the next chapter won't take too long. Thanks for reading, as always, I love you all. :D
> 
> PS: As to the whole thing with the shapeshifter. The way I understood it from rewatching Skin, the shapeshifter can take the form of anyone it knows the appearance of, and who's currently alive (as opposed to having to touch them, which was what I'd remembered from the episode? Who knows). So by that logic, I figure as it was 'downloading' Sam's memories, it got the image of Dean, decided it liked it, and used it. Though Dean isn't alive in the conventional sense, he's still _there_ , and he still has memories, so. That's my logic. If anyone wants to talk about it more in-depth, go for it, I love discussing things with people. That's all!


	8. Part Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes it a moment to reach Sam, but then he’s relaxing, smiles a little weakly. “Yeah, thought so,” he murmurs. “I mean, I can’t do stuff like that. That’d be… crazy, right? You’re the one movin’ shit around on me all the time.”
> 
> Sam seems more at ease, so Dean makes an effort to hide his own terrified confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. Don't really have any good excuses.
> 
> Most of the latter half of season one.

They haven’t even gotten out of Illinois when Sam sees it fit to pull over. There’s a girl on the side of the road, a petite blonde with a pixie cut, and she’s obviously hitchhiking. When Dean tries to protest, Sam mutters something to the effect of “what if someone else picks her up?” and leaves the implications up to interpretation. Dean stays quiet after that.

Sam pulls up beside her, leans over to unlock the passenger’s side door. She smiles gratefully and climbs in, gets herself comfortable and puts her backpack on her lap before closing the door.

“Where you headed?” Sam asks, already pulling back onto the road.

“California.” She smiles, entirely too predatory for her face. “But if you can get me to the bus station, that’s far enough.”

“I’m actually headed to California, too,” Sam says, smiles a little. “Coincidence, huh? I’m Sam, by the way.”

“Meg,” she replies, leans back in her seat.

Dean misses almost the entire exchange, too focused on how overwhelmingly _wrong_ the air suddenly feels. He wants her gone, wants her out of the car and left far in the rearview mirror, even though he isn’t really sure why. It reminds him of Jessica, though, of how the house felt right before they found her pinned to the ceiling, and he tries to convey this feeling to Sam. His brother apparently elects to ignore him for the moment, even though he gives the steering wheel a vaguely concerned glance as he drives.

They talk, now and again. Meg claims she’s trying to get away from her parents, Sam manages to empathize with her. There’s a little flirting and Dean feels sick, is relieved when the feeling seems to tone down Sam’s efforts.

The most unsettling thing about the whole drive is the way Meg keeps glancing around, the way her eyes will seem to rest on Dean for a fraction of a second before flickering away again. She seems almost nervous as she does it, which Dean finds absurdly comforting.

The whole length of the drive, Dean can’t shake off the feeling of unease he’s getting from Meg’s presence. It’s starting to get to Sam, if his fidgeting it of any indication, and neither of them relax until they reach the bus station.

Meg seems oddly put-out when Sam pulls up in front of it. “I thought you were going to California, too?” she asks, complete with a pout that doesn’t look quite right.

“I’ve got some stuff to do first,” Sam lies, and Dean’s so proud of his even voice and almost sheepish smile that he could cry. “Family stuff I’ve gotta deal with. But good luck.”

She still doesn’t look happy about the whole thing, but grabs her bag and waves goodbye before getting out of the car. Sam doesn’t say a word until they’re back on the road, at which point he lets out a slow breath and seems to relax a little.

“Okay, that wasn’t just you,” is the first thing he says, frowning a little bit. “That was… that was weird.”

They don’t say anything else about it, and Dean’s happy to let the subject drop. She’s gone now, out of the way, no longer a concern, and Sam’s able to focus on driving again.

\--

Sam starts drawing again not long after the incident with Meg.

It’s no more than an impulse buy, at first, when he buys a cheap sketchbook at some convenience store he stops in for food, but then when he stops over for the night at a Motel 6 somewhere in Colorado, he’s pulling it out and staring at it for a long moment before finding himself a pen.

Dean watches, enraptured as he always is, as his face starts to come to life under Sam’s hands. He’s older now; it’s been months since Sam’s done this, and the change is clear. It seems cathartic for Sam, though, because as he watches, some of the tension leaks out of his brother’s shoulders, and his initially tight grip on the pen eases up a little bit.

There’s nothing especially differentiating about this particular instance until Sam finishes, and Dean realizes that his shirt has been left unbuttoned. It’s not a bit deal; it shows the amulet, hanging down below his collarbones, some light detailing for his chest and stomach. It’s not something that Dean allows himself to think about, but Sam’s eyes linger a few seconds too long and he can’t help but wonder. 

It gets tucked away with the others, something he actually retained from the fire- the box was in Jessica’s car, of all places, stayed there after some roadtrip they’d taken when Sam couldn’t bring himself to part with it- and he doesn’t mention it again. He starts drawing again regularly, though, seems to be getting a little more liberal with the finer details of it. 

Dean decides not to pay it too much attention. For now, it seems like it’s going to be one of the things they don’t talk about or otherwise acknowledge. He pretends not to notice that those things are becoming more and more common.

\--

They’re well on the way to California when Sam starts having nightmares again.

He doesn’t say anything about it, never does. Dean can tell, though, recognizes the tightening of Sam’s jaw, the way he furrows his brow in his sleep. He stops letting himself drift off when his brother does, focuses instead on siphoning some of the pain he knows they cause to himself. He’s pretty sure Sam doesn’t know.

The whole thing seems harmless until one night when Sam comes gasping awake, sits bolt upright in bed and stumbles to his feet, already moving on shaky legs towards his bag. Dean’s concern is immediate and possibly overwhelming, because it takes a few seconds for his brother to gather himself enough to respond. 

“We- we have to go,” he says, shoving what little he’s unpacked back into his bag. “Right now.”

He doesn’t offer more explanation than that, seems to ignore Dean’s confusion in favour of packing up, checking out, and hitting the road again. Sam’s still a little shaky behind the wheel, and the potential risk that comes with that is enough to have Dean prodding for answers again.

“I had another nightmare.” Sam states the obvious first, clears his throat a little bit before he continues. “But it was- it was different. More vivid. Like…”

Like the ones before Jessica’s death. Sam doesn’t have to finish the sentence for that to be clear. Dean had had his suspicions, with the efforts he’s been making to ensure his brother actually rests properly now and again, but hearing it confirmed out loud chills something inside him. 

Sam swallows hard, nods, seeming to pick up on Dean’s understanding. “Yeah.” He clears his throat when his voice cracks. “I think it was… some kind of vision. Because that’s what the other ones were, right? They were visions.” He seems to harden his resolve, then, grim determination accentuating his features as he sits up a little in his seat. “And I didn’t do anything. But now- now I’m doing something.”

Even if Dean had wanted to discourage him, he’s not sure he’d have been able to. So he stays quiet and supportive while Sam drives, while he makes a call to check the plates he’d seen in the vision, the ones that lead them towards Saginaw, Michigan. Sam drives the whole way through, ignores any attempts to get him to pull over, to take any sort of break. Dean gives up pretty quickly, just tries to prepare himself for whatever’s waiting for them when they get there.

When Sam pulls into town, following the directions his phone is giving him, he’s led straight into what appears to be a crime scene.

It’s dark except for red and blue lights, flashing from the tops of police cars, ambulances. Sam’s slow to get out of the car, and Dean takes the initiative to scout ahead. He shows his brother the car in the garage, the dead man who’s being carried out on a stretcher, before returning to him.

“We’re too late.” Sam sounds oddly numb, like maybe if he tries hard enough, this event will reverse itself. But as they watch, the body’s loaded into the back of the ambulance, spectators are urged to return to their homes. Sam just nods a little when he’s told, turns and heads back to the car.

“I couldn’t save him,” Sam mumbles, closing his eyes and resting his forehead on the steering wheel. He exhales slowly, fingers tightening where they’ve curled around it. 

Dean does his best to comfort his brother while he keeps an eye on what’s going on outside. It seems like the man’s family has been awake for a while, and now they’re being approached by the police. It’s not all that interesting until he notices the way a boy- young man, really, probably around Sam’s age- seems to be glowing. Pulsating. There’s something there, some kind of energy Dean can’t put a name to, but he takes the time to look at the guy properly. Skin so pale he almost looks sickly. An unhealthy sheen to his skin, a sort of nasally tremble in his voice. Dark bruises under his eyes like he hasn’t slept properly in a week. 

That’s the first time Dean sees Max Miller, and he’ll later wonder if he wouldn’t have been better off trying to deal with the kid right off the bat.

-

They stay in Saginaw because one way or another, Sam’s dreams led him here, and he’s intent on figuring out what’s so important about Jim Miller that he had to see the death- apparently suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning- firsthand.

After Dean’s managed to calm him down a little bit, they start treating it like any other case. They talk to the family, neighbours, friends. Dean doesn’t miss the way Max Miller- the dead man’s son- looks at Sam, the way his eyes linger for a few seconds too many. It’s unsettling, and Sam seems to pick up on it, too, leaves the wake in a hurry with a mumbled apology and the half-hearted blessing that fits the character he’s trying to play. 

He waits until they’re back at the motel to speak, but the silence between them isn’t stifling, not like it had been before. “Was there something… off about him?” Sam asks as he checks the salt lines. “Max, I mean.”

Dean remembers the look in the kid’s eyes, almost a little crazed. He hadn’t seemed very focused on grieving, despite the fact that he’d just lost his father. It’s mostly the strange energy he’d been giving off that’s got Dean on edge, though.

“I thought so, too.” Sam’s frowning, straightens up slowly and walks over to flop down on the bed with a sigh. “You think he’s got somethin’ to do with it? Like- his dad? Or maybe he’s just a weird kid.”

Sam always thinks best like this, speaking out loud to Dean even if he can’t really reply. Maybe it’s just a matter of hearing his own thoughts aloud, talking things out like that, but Dean likes to think that whatever responses he’s able to give help his brother to some degree.

“I mean…” Sam sighs, a frustrated sound as he rakes his fingers through his hair. “There was nothing on the infrared scanner. No sulfur, no cold spots, so it can’t be a ghost, or…”

He falters a moment, face scrunching up as he presses his fingers into the bridge of his nose. “Or- demon, I guess. And there’s nothing weird about… the house-”

Sam looks like he’s struggling, squeezes his eyes shut and visibly steadies himself before continuing. Dean’s more than a little concerned. “Unless… I guess, there might be- something they didn’t…” He breathes out a hiss, and that’s as much as Dean’s willing to listen to.

Sam must pick up on that, because he shakes his head, seems to regret it a moment later. “I’m- _fuck_ \- I’m fine, Dean, it’s just-”

He slides down to the floor, then, cries out in pain as he curls in on himself. Dean’s on him in an instant, trying to figure out what’s wrong, and it only takes him a moment to recognize the energy bleeding off him, the stiffness in his muscles. He’s having a vision in the middle of the day, and Dean can’t even bring himself to worry about the implications of that right now.

All his attention goes to taking the pain away as best he knows how, digging his way into Sam’s mind and redirecting it towards himself. It’s startling in its intensity, but he knows he can take it, doesn’t want to see his brother curled up on the floor in agony any longer. 

It lasts less than a minute, but it still feels too long. By the time Sam staggers to his feet, he looks desperate, confused, a sheen of sweat on his skin.

“We- we have to…” He doesn’t even finish the sentence, just snatches his jacket off the bed and stumbles towards the door. Dean steadies him like he’s a toddler learning to walk all over again, and if Sam notices, he doesn’t say anything.

Sam drives like a madman, not towards the Miller home this time, but a little farther downtown- as downtown as Saginaw gets, anyways- towards a looming apartment complex. He’s silent for a couple minutes, and when he speaks, it’s surprisingly calm. The eye of the storm, Dean thinks sort of distantly.

“Roger. Jim’s brother. He’s gonna- something’s gonna happen to him.”

It has Dean’s mind racing for an explanation- maybe the family’s cursed, something they haven’t looked into yet- but then they’re reaching the parking lot and the car’s barely stopped before Sam’s rushing out, shouting after a man about to enter the building.

“Roger! Roger, you’re in danger!”

Roger turns, looks at Sam with contempt and irritation. “Said I don’t want anything to do with your kind, Father,” he says, almost a sneer, and heads inside a little faster, ignores Sam’s protests. Dean’s attempts to follow him are unsuccessful- he _can’t_ , he realizes, there’s something that won’t let him- and his brother’s moving somewhere else, anyways, doesn’t give him time to wonder about it.

“Fire escape,” is all Sam says, breathless as he runs towards the stairs.

Dean’s right with him the whole way, barely takes the time to check for any danger on the way up. They’re getting close, he can feel it, some kind of energy building, growing, getting clearer and sharper as they close in on the right window. Sam swings around a corner, and then there’s a sharp, solid _thunk_ , and he stops cold.

He looks almost shell-shocked, Dean thinks, as he starts moving again, more slowly, hands shaking a little as they brush over the railings. He takes the last few steps up, and his fingers curl tight around the metal.

Roger’s head has been separated from his body, blood splattered on the windowpane where it’d come down on his neck. Dean’s worried Sam’s going to puke, for a moment, he’s so pale, but he takes a deep breath, seems to get a hold of himself.

“Again,” he says, voice a little faint as he leans into the railing. Dean’s almost worried about it giving out under his weight, tries to keep an eye on it without taking his attention off anything else. “I was- we… he’s dead.” He chokes a little on the last word. “I couldn’t stop it, Dean. We weren’t fast enough.”

Dean refuses to let Sam fixate on that, because if he knows one thing about his brother, it’s that he’ll let it stick with him, the self-blaming. So he fixes Sam with a sense of urgency, instead, reminds him that they need to leave, _now_ , nudges him in the direction he came.

Sam blinks a couple times, nods. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, okay. Still a case. Still a job to finish.” He barely pauses to wipe the railings clean of his own fingerprints on the way back to the car, one too many brushes with the law making him wary of such things.

They make it back to the car without incident, but Sam pauses at the wheel like he’s not sure where to go. It only takes a little nudging from Dean to get him heading back to the motel. The ride is silent for a few minutes.

“Maybe it’s something about the family,” Sam murmurs, echoing Dean’s thoughts. “Maybe we missed something.” It’s not a possibility they like to think about, but it’s always there, just the same. 

It’s quiet when they get back, and Sam doesn’t bother trying to do anything else before falling into bed, obviously exhausted. Sam doesn’t dream that night, but Dean stays awake, just in case.

-

First thing the next morning, they stop by the Miller’s again. Alice is obviously distraught, having lost her husband and brother-in-law within a couple days, but most of Sam’s attention is on Max.

The kid closes up pretty quick when Sam starts to ask questions, but they gather enough to learn about the old house across town. Sam stays a little longer, tries without much success to console Alice, and then gets back in the car to head over there.

As it turns out, the house doesn’t exist anymore. A neighbour tells Sam about the fire that happened there, about the sounds. About Max’s mother dying.

It’s not much to go on, but when Sam crumples to the ground on the way back to the car, Dean’s concerns are redirected.

He’s been getting better at this, at siphoning off the pain of the visions- a fact in itself that’s extremely concerning- so he barely has to think about it, stuffs it to the back of his mind while he focuses on his brother, waiting for him to come back.

As soon as he stands, Sam’s speaking, almost trips over his own feet to get back to the car.

“It’s- it’s Max. He’s doing this.”

Somehow, the revelation doesn’t shock Dean the way he feels like it probably should. 

“He’s got… it’s like telekinesis or something,” Sam mutters as he gets into the car. “S’like what you can do, but- but he’s hurting people.” He freezes for a moment, and it takes him some time to recover enough to jam the key into the ignition. “God, that’s why I keep seeing him. We’re both… psychic, or something.”

It’s a troubling thought, but one that Sam doesn’t seem to want to discuss further at the moment. He has no regard for speed limits or traffic laws on the way back to the Miller’s, and Dean doesn’t have it in himself to try to get him to ease up. There’s a slightly wild look in Sam’s eyes, something that Dean can understand. They need to save _someone_ here, or they might as well not have showed up at all.

The drive feels too long, and Sam doesn’t even bother to shut off the engine after he makes it to the driveway, races out of the car. Dean scouts ahead, and he’s almost startled enough by the scene he’s met with that he doesn’t interfere.

Almost.

Just as Sam’s bursting into the kitchen, just as Max makes the move to jam the knife through his stepmother’s eye with whatever kind of telekinetic abilities he’s displaying, Dean grabs and _pulls_ , manages to stop the thing in place. He’s straining, though, struggling to retain the grip he has on the thing, and it’s quivering in midair with the opposing forces trying to control it. But he can feel Sam’s relief like a physical thing, and that’s enough to keep him going.

Max looks startled, to say the least.

He whips around to look at Sam, and there’s sweat on his brow, something that Dean likes to think is his own doing. “You- that’s not you doing that,” he says, obviously confused behind the frustration. 

Sam doesn’t acknowledge that. “Max, you don’t want to do this,” he says, takes a careful step forward. “Please. It’s not too late. You can just walk away.”

Max looks increasingly more suspicious, and Dean suddenly recalls that Sam’s supposed to be a priest. Sam seems to figure it out at the same time, and he’s talking again a moment later. “Look, I lied, alright? About… about the priest thing. But it’s because I needed to talk to you. Can we-” He glances at Alice, still trembling against the wall with the knife hovering near her face, Dean holding it where it is with less effort than before. “Can we talk alone? You don’t need to hurt her.”

“She’s not going anywhere,” Max replies, flits his gaze between Sam and his stepmother. “She- she deserves this. You don’t know what she did.”

“Please.” Sam takes half a step closer, now. “I want to talk. You don’t have to go, just… send her upstairs? We need to talk.”

Max hesitates for another long moment, but then Dean can feel the force of the knife ease up. He nearly flings it across the room with all the resistance he’s been putting up, but manages to control himself and lets it drop to the floor.

When it’s obvious that Alice isn’t moving of her own power right now, Dean nudges her forward. That seems to confuse her more, but she’s compliant, follows his direction as he leads her towards the stairs.

As she starts ascending, though, Dean turns to go back to his brother, and feels- something. It’s searching, probing, and he feels a little violated, tries to get out of its way. The sensation follows him, though, feels like it’s trying to grab onto him. By the time he makes it back to the kitchen, it’s obvious that his discomfort and confusion have reached Sam.

“What- what are you doing?” his brother demands, visibly steels himself. Dean imagine it’s taking most of his willpower not to look around, to search the air for him.

Max seems equal parts intrigued and confused. “It’s not you,” he says, almost fascinated, but refocuses a moment later. Dean’s thankful that the probing feeling stops, and there’s no longer a question as to who’d been responsible. “Who are you? Why’d you come here in the first place?”

“My name is Sam Winchester,” Sam begins, seems to be making an effort to keep his voice even. “And- and I’m like you.”

“No, you’re not,” Max cuts him off, frowns as he glances around. “That wasn’t you. Don’t lie to me, Sam.”

“Not that.” Sam seems as startled as Dean that Max has picked up on his existence, but presses on all the same. “I- I saw you. In a dream. A vision. A few, actually.”

“You’re psychic, too?” Max looks wary, shifts on his feet. “What’s that got to do with me?”

Sam smiles a little, then, an expression that Dean recognizes from every time his brother’s managed to work out a particularly hard problem. “When did your powers start showing up, Max?”

That just seems to put Max more on edge. “’Bout six months ago,” he says carefully.

Encouraged, Sam continues. Dean’s starting to follow his train of thought, and he’s not sure he likes where it’s headed. “That’s when mine started, too,” he says, sounds a little too enthusiastic for the conversation that’s happening. “And- you’re twenty-two, right?” He barely waits for Max to nod before he continues. “Me, too. And that fire, where your mom died? I bet you were six months old.” 

Apparently, the shock on Max’s face is enough of an answer for Sam, because he plows on without waiting for a response. “We’re connected, Max. I don’t know what’s going on, but there’s something we’ve got in common, something that led me here, to you.” He reaches a hand out, palm-up, eyes wide and sincere. “Let me help you. Please.”

For a moment, it looks like Max is going to agree. There’s hesitation in his eyes as they look Sam over, but they stop and narrow and shut down again a fraction of a second later. Dean spots the handle of the gun poking out from the back of Sam’s jeans just as it’s yanked free by some invisible force.

“You didn’t come here to talk.” Max’s voice is trembling, and he looks furious. “And she needs to pay for what she’s done.”

There’s no warning before Sam’s thrown backwards, the door of the closet flying open just as he’s tossed inside. The doors slam shut and a heavy wooden cabinet shoves itself in front of it, effectively trapping Sam inside. 

“She’s gonna pay,” Max mumbles, turns and heads upstairs with the gun following after him.

Dean’s first instinct- like always- is to help his brother, but even as he’s moving towards the cabinet, Sam’s calling out.

“Go help Alice! I’m fine here,” he insists. He must sense Dean’s hesitation, repeats the order. “Dean, _go!_ ”  
So Dean goes. He hurries upstairs, finds Max with his mother. Even as Dean moves to intercept him, though, he finds himself stuck, held tight in place, something inexplicably trapping him. It’s a bizarre sensation, and he can’t help the bit of panic it causes.

“I don’t know what you are,” Max says, looking in Dean’s general direction, “but you’re not getting in my way. She _deserves_ this, don’t you get it? It’s justice!”

Except that Dean’s not really onboard with that at all, so he starts struggling- trying to break free, or at the very least, distract Max for a little while until he can figure out some way to stop him for real.

Max doesn’t seem to like that at all. His frown deepens, and Dean feels like he’s being compressed, pushed into a too-small space, suffocated. 

“Stay still.” Max turns away, though he’s trembling a little, and Dean wonders distantly how much effort this is costing him. “I need to do this, and you won’t stop me. I’ll deal with you after.”

Whatever that means, Dean doesn’t like it, starts struggling. Even if he can’t get free, maybe he can distract Max long enough for Sam to do something.

Just as the thought crosses his mind, there’s a _pulse_ of something, some kind of energy, and somehow, inexplicably, Dean knows it’s been caused by his brother.

Max doesn’t seem to notice the energy nor Dean’s confusion, turns back to his mother a moment later. “All those years, you just _let_ them hurt me. You didn’t try to stop them, not once.”

Dean’s not listening anymore, doesn’t bother taking note of the way Alice pleads for her life. His attention is back on Sam, now, and his brother’s moving, out of the closet, up the stairs, swings around the corner-

“Max, stop,” he says as he reaches the room, holds his hands out placatingly. “You don’t have to do this, c’mon. Don’t be like them.”

Max turns around slowly, and Dean’s surprised to notice that he’s crying. “You don’t get it,” he whispers. “No one gets it. I can’t- I can’t _stop_.” He seems to realize something, then, eyes drifting to the gun. He looks at Sam for a long moment, doesn’t say anything. “I can never _stop_.”

Dean realizes what’s about to happen a fraction of a second before it does, but it’s not enough time. The gun swings around, the barrel levelled at Max, and before Sam can even cry out properly, the trigger’s pulled, and Max is gone.

-

They pack up pretty quick after that. Sam gives Alice clipped, toneless instructions, explains what she needs to tell the police. Dean’s pretty sure she’s still in shock by the time they’re back in the car, heading to the motel room to pack up again.

“I could’ve gotten through to him,” Sam’s muttering. He’s stuck on this, for some reason, more than he generally tends to be after a case gone bad. “I could’ve saved him, Dean if I’d just… tried harder. Been faster.”

Dean’s adamantly against that idea. Max was broken, somewhere deep, too far-gone to be saved, no matter how good Sam tended to be at these things. He doesn’t need his brother beating himself up over this, tries to convey that as best he’s able.

Sam furrows his brow, pauses before going back to packing the weapons away. “He did something to you,” he muses, quieter now. “He could… I don’t know. S’that why you were slowed down?”

Dean’s confused for a moment, doesn’t know what Sam means. Of course his abilities had been restricted while Max had been… supressing them, somehow, but he doesn’t know why it’s coming up now.

“The closet,” Sam explains, glances up in Dean’s general direction. “You got me out, right? So I could come help.”

Oh. 

For a long moment, Dean doesn’t know how he’s supposed to react. Because it wasn’t him, with the closet- he’d been occupied trying to fight off Max’s constraints so he could stop him from hurting Alice. He’s suddenly reminded of the pulse of energy he’d felt just before Sam’s reappearance, and starts to connect the dots in his head. Sam doesn’t seem to appreciate that.

“Of course it was you,” he mutters, goes back to packing, albeit a little more aggressively, now. “You moved it. So I could get out. I mean, it’s not like Max did it, and… I didn’t…”

It’s only when Dean realizes just how much this is bothering Sam, the implication that he himself could’ve been responsible- could’ve done something on a near-Max level of power- that he decides to go with it.

It takes it a moment to reach Sam, but then he’s relaxing, smiles a little weakly. “Yeah, thought so,” he murmurs. “I mean, I can’t do stuff like that. That’d be… crazy, right? You’re the one movin’ shit around on me all the time.”

Sam seems more at ease, so Dean makes an effort to hide his own terrified confusion.

\--

For a few days after that, Sam doesn’t take any jobs. Dean can tell how much the thing with Max has shaken him, and he’s more than happy to do what he can to make sure his little brother gets the sort of rest he needs. If that means slumming around in a motel as far from Saginaw as he can bear to drive with a pizza, then so be it.

He’s been keeping an eye on the room, mostly, takes care to double-check the locks on the doors, to stay alert while Sam lets himself take some time off. He doesn’t notice that Sam’s taken out his sketchbook again until he’s already got it flipped open to a blank page, stares at it for a long while before he picks up a pencil.

“Why can’t you just be here?” he whispers, and Dean doesn’t need to think too hard to know it’s directed at him. He heads over quietly, drapes his presence over Sam’s shoulders to try and offer some degree of comfort. Sam shivers, relaxes, starts sketching properly. “It’d be… it’d be easier if you were.”

Dean’s got no doubt that it’s true, but he stays quiet, just watches for now. His neck and shoulders take form first, then his torso. Sam sketches out the smooth lines of his hips, his legs, starts working his way back up as he pencils in the details. Dean’s lying down, in the picture, and it’s not until Sam’s well into the drawing that he realizes what his brother’s doing- or rather, not doing.

Logically, it shouldn’t be a big deal whether or not Sam draws him with clothes. They’ve been together forever like this, and Dean’s seen Sam naked more times than he can count, and it shouldn’t matter. It _shouldn’t_. It should, but it does, inexplicably, and Dean’s tense, thrumming with some kind of energy he can’t explain. 

He’s not entirely sure where Sam’s going with this, and he can’t quite decide how he feels about it.

-

Sam’s not entirely sure where he’s going with this, but he can’t quite bring himself to stop.

It’s something he’s been thinking about recently, too often for his comfort, not enough to properly satisfy him. Maybe it’s because of Jess, maybe it’s because Dean’s all he’s ever really had. He doesn’t know why, and honestly, doesn’t really care. 

Because this is his. No matter what else happens, no matter where he ends up with all this psychic bullshit going on, Dean is his. He always has been, and he’s always going to be.

It’s why he doesn’t stop what he’s doing, doesn’t even hesitate. He can see it so clearly, the way Dean would look like this- laid back, spread out for him, lips parted, eyes a little wide. Fuck, but his big brother’s always been pretty in his mind, freckles and green eyes and plush lips. Even Jess had commented on it, back when he’d finally gotten around to showing her, had laughed when she’d joked about seeing where the good looks of the family had gone.

But it’s different now, because Sam’s finally letting himself look, letting himself _see_. And he can feel Dean, the slight confusion as the pencil flies across the page, and he should feel guilty, but he can’t stop. He can’t stop and he doesn’t know where this is going to end.

Because this is what he’s got. He’s got himself, and he’s got Dean, and that’s how things are supposed to be, he thinks.

So by the time the picture’s done, the flat planes and smooth lines of Dean’s body darkened and shaded in, the gentle curve of his cock where it rests on his leg, Sam’s harder than he’s probably ever been in his life.

He shifts a little, slumps down low in his chair and fumbles for the zipper on his jeans. Dean’s confusion shifts into a sort of tentative understanding, and Sam’s sense of shame fades into the background.

“Just want you here,” Sam whispers, finally manages to get his jeans undone, shoves them down his hips along with his boxers. The wooden chair’s hard against his ass, but he doesn’t care, can’t make himself be bothered by it right now. He’s got a hand on his cock a moment later, swipes his thumb over the head and smears precome down the shaft.

Dean’s quiet, but then, he usually is when Sam does this. But he can still feel his brother there, impossibly and inexplicably. The thought that he’s probably watching has Sam letting out a soft groan, and he struggles to keep his eyes open, to focus on the picture in front of him. Not that he needs to- he can see it clear as day every time he closes his eyes to go to sleep.

“God, Dean,” he breathes, bites his lip as he starts stroking himself properly, eyes tracing the length of Dean’s body as he’s drawn it. “You’re so fuckin’ _pretty_.” 

There’s no word he can think of right now to better describe it. Dean’s face is unfairly feminine, full, pouty lips and big eyes. He can’t stand it, can’t _do_ this, his hand a blur on his cock. He barely registers it when Dean’s feelings become stronger, start to take shape and become _directed_ , but then he’s hit with a wave of arousal that doesn’t belong to him and he’s _done_. 

Later, he’ll wonder if Dean had something to do with keeping the drawing clean, getting it out of the splash zone, so to speak, but right now he doesn’t care, can’t think about anything but how good this feels, that Dean seems to be willing, if not able.

It’s that thought that really gets him as he’s coming down from the high of his orgasm, and suddenly he feels so low he thinks he’s going to be sick.

Dean’s his big brother, and he’s always been there to protect him, to take care of him, but there’s always been something- untouched. Unsoiled. Sam’s not sure “innocent” is the right word, but it’s as close as he can get right now. 

But now- now.

His clean hand comes up to cover his mouth, tries to stifle the sound that wants to escape him. The one good thing in his world, and he has to go and fucking _ruin_ it like this, has to- to corrupt Dean. To use him like this. It hurts to think about, and a small whimper escapes him.

Sam almost doesn’t notice the soothing feelings washing over him at first, too caught up in his own failure. But they break through, somehow, work their way right down to his core, smooth over the hurt, jagged edges of him. It doesn’t take a genius to realize it’s Dean, and somehow, that just makes it worse.

“M’sorry,” Sam manages, scrubs a hand over his face and takes a shaky breath. “God, Dean… I’m so sorry.”

But there’s nothing coming from Dean that suggests he _should_ be, just the calming pulses tinged with a hint of concern. It’s so _Dean_ that it hurts, and Sam smiles a tiny bit to himself.

“You don’t deserve this,” he mumbles. “Don’t deserve havin’ to deal with- with me. You deserve better.”

That’s when the feelings change again, and they’re almost tentative, now, slow and probing, but Sam recognizes them all the same. It’s the usual love his brother’s always shown him, but there’s something else there, too. It’s a tiny hint of the arousal from before, that feeling that’s heavier, that’s got a sort of a charge to it. A flavour, almost, and it has Sam huffing out another laugh.

“Yeah?” He swallows hard, slowly tucks himself away. “Lucky us, huh? Guess we’re both screwed.” A pause. “Or, y’know, not.”

This is something he should think about, Sam’s sure, but right now, he’s more than happy to continue on in blissful almost-ignorance.

\--

The case in Chicago is almost a blessing, something to focus on besides the ever-growing tension between them. Sam drives faster than he should, but Dean doesn’t try to stop him. He’s just thankful they’ve got something to do again, because he’s pretty sure that too much more time alone and brooding in the motel room was going to drive his brother mad.

It seems like a pretty typical job, if a gory one. The woman’s- Meredith’s- death was bloody, senseless. No one has an explanation for what’s shaping up to be a classic locked-room murder, so Sam figures it’s their turn to step in.

Sam manages to wheedle some extra information out of one of the officers on the case, learns that along with the otherwise brutal massacre, Meredith’s heart had been missing from her body. When they visit the room, it’s messy, and Sam sends Dean to check for any lingering energy while he works the EMF meter.

There’s definitely _something_ here, some presence Dean can only just barely detect. It feels dark, wrong. Oddly familiar. He tucks that away for later, returns to where Sam’s squinting at the bloodstains on the floor. Dean joins him, tries to figure out what they’re looking at.

By the time they’ve sorted out the symbol and Sam’s taken a couple photos on his phone, the dark energy has almost entirely dissipated. It makes Dean uneasy, but at least now he knows what to look for.

With no leads to go on except Meredith’s friends, Sam heads to the bar she’d worked at later that night. Dean’s on lookout duty, as he typically is for these things, barely listens in while the bartender tells Sam about how nice Meredith had been, how likeable. There’s nothing pointing to anything abnormal happening before her death, and Dean’s frustrated right up until he gets distracted.

Because there’s that energy again, sharp and concentrated now in the small bar, and he’s instantly on alert, sweeps over the crowd for the source, and Sam must feel his shock, because he turns around just as Meg reaches him, a look of confusion on his face.

“Sam!” she says, smiles wide and wraps her arms around him like they’re old friends. Sam’s a little slow to respond, but returns the hug, lets it go on for another couple seconds before he’s pulling away and she’s speaking again. “What’re you doing here? I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Visiting friends,” Sam says, the lie rolling off his tongue with practised ease. Dean can’t help but feel a little bit proud. Meg glances around, opens her mouth, and he’s quick to add on, “they’re not here. But what’re you doing here? Weren’t you going to California?”

“I was. I did.” Meg shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “I went, I saw. I soaked up the sun. Got bored after a while, though, so here I am.” Her smile is predatory, and it makes Dean uneasy. 

“Right.” Sam nods slowly, and Dean can see him calculating an escape route. “Well, I was just heading out, so… maybe I’ll see you around.”

Meg smiles again. Dean can tell Sam’s trying not to wince. “Yeah, sounds good. I’m looking forward to it.” 

Sam nods sort of warily, and then moves to leave. He visibly winces when she grabs his arm and stops him. “Wait- let me give you my number. We should hook up while you’re in town.” Another smile that makes Dean want to hurt her for touching his brother. “I can show you a hell of a time.”

“Right.” Sam turns towards her, manages a smile. “Uh- here, just…” He pulls out his phone and keys in the number she gives him, pauses as he enters her name. “You never did tell me your last name.”

“Masters.” She winks, and it comes off more mocking than playful. “So you’d better call.”

“Sure.” Sam’s already backing up again, shoves his phone back in his pocket. “See you.”

He turns away, looks tense with Meg at his back, so Dean’s careful to cover him on the way out, watching her. She doesn’t take her eyes off of Sam until he’s out the door, and Dean’s finally able to let himself relax a little bit, turns his focus to the dark streets of Chicago.

“There’s something not normal about her,” Sam says as soon as they’re alone, voice pitched low. He’s got his hands shoved deep in his pockets, shivers like he’s trying to shake something off. “Like- there’s no way that was a coincidence, right? That’s not just me?”

Dean gives as much of a negative answer as he’s able. He long ago stopped believing in coincidences, and this whole situation feels too neat and tidy for the way their lives have typically gone.

“We should keep an eye on her.” Sam’s heading to the car fast, keeps glancing over his shoulder. Dean can’t really blame him, all things considered, and makes a point to hover in close, keeps an eye on the scene as a whole. “See why she’s suddenly in town.”

Dean quietly translates that to leaving Sam somewhere safe while he watches Meg for suspicious behaviour. There’s no way he’s letting his brother anywhere near her if it can be avoided. The vibes coming from her are nothing like he’s ever felt, and he’s more than a little concerned.

They don’t end up leaving the bar, just keeping an eye on it from the car until they can see Meg leave. It’s not hard to follow her back to a house, and they set up for a stakeout. Dean takes the liberty of moving in closer and letting Sam see everything he does.

She isn’t doing anything of note; she’s changing in her room, and Dean gives Sam his own vision back with a vaguely disgruntled feeling. He doesn’t want to be feeding his little brother live footage of her taking her clothes off for more reasons than he can really identify. Sam seems a little unimpressed by that, but Dean doesn’t let it bother him.

“She’s not doing anything,” Sam’s saying, shutting his laptop and stashing it back in its bag, apparently aware that Dean can hear him. “I mean- she checks out. Meg Masters. Real phone number and everything. So… maybe she’s just creepy?” 

It’s wishful thinking that they both know is far too simple a solution to be true. 

Dean’s attention is back on the apartment a moment later as the door opens, and he gets as close as he dares. Meg’s bundled up in a jacket, now, glances around before crossing the street, going somewhere fast. Sam’s already hiding, and Dean returns to his side, urges his brother to follow.

Trailing Meg back to the old warehouse where she’s set up in is surprisingly easy, and Dean’s on edge by the time they get there. He’s got a careful eye on Sam while he scales the inside of the elevator shaft, doesn’t care about Meg for the moment as he prepares himself to cushion any fall that might happen. Once he’s safely settled at the top, they both take a look to see what she’s up to.

As she moves towards the altar that’s set up and picks up the wide, deep bowl full of blood, Dean figures they’re probably out of their league.

It’s like nothing he’s ever seen before, and it feels like Sam’s just as confused. It’s nothing good, based on the small animal bones and the mess of what appear to be demonic symbols- including the one from the crime scene- scattered around, but that isn’t nearly enough for them to figure out what’s going on.

The way she talks into the bowl doesn’t offer much insight, either, and just leaves Dean feeling more confused than he’d been to begin with.

She blows out the candles before she leaves, and as soon as the coast is clear, Dean goes about helping Sam before moving towards the altar for a closer look. Feels suddenly overwhelmed by the dark energy that washes over him, has him faltering.

Sam must notice, because he stops, frowns as he glances around. “Dean?” His voice is soft, apparently worried about being overheard or attracting attention. “What’s wrong?”

He’s not entirely sure, doesn’t know how to answer the question. All he knows is that there’s something very wrong about this place, whatever Meg’s done here. It’s enough to have him nudging Sam back towards the elevator shaft, intent on getting his brother away. He wants to know more about what they’re up against before trying anything else.

 

“Fine, okay,” Sam’s muttering, stumbles a little before Dean lets him regain his own footing. He moves carefully, starts his climb back down. “Bad things, got it. I’m going, I’m going.”

He makes it to the ground safely and starts heading back towards the car. Dean keeps a lookout as they go, nervous about Meg or whatever the source of his bad feeling earlier being nearby. He doesn’t want to know what might cause something like that until he knows exactly how to kill it.

“I’ll check Dad’s journal,” Sam murmurs as he slides into the driver’s side. “See if he’s got any of those symbols sketched out.”

It’s somewhere to start, if nothing else. They need to get a move on this case and figure out what’s causing these deaths before anyone else falls victim. If Meg is involved, then it’s just a matter of figuring out how to go about dealing with her.

-

Dean’s never heard of a daeva before, but it sure as hell sounds like something he doesn’t want to have to tangle with.

“So we can’t kill them.” Sam sighs and rubs a hand down his face, sets his phone down. He looks tired after a couple hours of skimming through notes and cross-checking things on the internet, something that ended with calling a few of their dad’s contacts for help. Caleb had been able to give Sam the information he needed about the symbol from the attack and the altar, and it’d been enough to give them a starting point to figuring out what they’re dealing with. Sam’s obviously exhausted after all the legwork, though, and Dean wonders if he can subtly compel his brother to go to bed. “We just have to release them from their master, basically.”

Dean remembers the altar Meg had had set up, shows it to Sam, and his brother’s already nodding. “Yeah, exactly. So we just have to destroy that, and they won’t be hurting anyone anymore.” A pause. “And I guess getting rid of Meg would be ideal, so she doesn’t just set up a new one and keep going.”

They still don’t know what’s going on with her, but that’s a concern for another time. The problem at hand is the invisible killer demons, and that’s what Dean decides to focus on for the time being. 

“I still don’t understand the victims, though.” Sam heaves a sigh, reaches over to pull their files close. He hasn’t gone through the new ones in detail yet, but after their initial background checks, Dean isn’t feeling terribly confident about a connection between them. “You think they’re just random killings? Senseless violence?”

As much as Dean wants to accept the explanation, there’s something cold and calculating about Meg that tells him it isn’t her style. Instead of trying to answer, he nudges one of the folders open. It’s one more thing they can look at before he can start trying to convince Sam to take a nap or something. Just to set them both at ease.

Sam sighs. Opens both folders so they can work together, and starts reading.

It’s not until Dean gets through the file to Meredith’s birth certificate that he finds something worthwhile.

Sam must feel the confusion is causes, because he glances up, eyes settling on the papers Dean’s working through. “What is it?”

Dean quietly nudges the piece of paper towards his brother. Doesn’t need to point anything out before Sam’s eyebrows raise.

“Born in Lawrence, Kansas,” he murmurs. Rubs a hand over his mouth before turning to his own folder and starting to search with a little more urgency.

It doesn’t take long to see that the first victim had also been born in Lawrence, and it’s enough to have Dean rethinking the entire situation.

“You think she’s got something to do with it all?” Sam says quietly. He’s looking up at the ceiling, closes his eyes a moment later. “The demon that killed Mom? That killed Jess? You think she’s involved?”

Dean doesn’t have a good answer. It’s all too much to process right now, and he doesn’t even know where to begin with this new bit of information. His first thought is to try to get Sam to rest now- they can worry about this in the morning- but then Sam’s opening his eyes and reaching for his phone.

“Dad’s gonna want to know about this,” he murmurs. Flips it open and clicks through a couple menus before he’s got their father’s number dialling. “It’s got to do with the demon, so- so he’ll want to know, right?”

Dean’s a little hesitant to agree, but he doesn’t do anything to stop Sam. If he wants to call their dad, Dean isn’t going to interfere.

As expected, the man doesn’t pick up. Sam looks disappointed, but leaves a voicemail anyways, telling him about the lead they’ve got and asking for his help.

Dean’s not sure it’ll do any good, but it’s probably worth a shot, just in case. 

With nothing left to do but wait for nightfall, Sam goes to work packing out for the job, checking and double-checking all his weapons to make sure everything’s in working order. Dean’s mostly a silent observer at this point; his brother knows what he’s doing, and he’s got the sense that the whole process is cathartic for Sam, regardless. He needs all the comfort he can get right now.

“You ever think about going back?”

Sam’s voice is soft, but Dean hears him loud and clear. Doesn’t need to think too hard about what he means.

“If we finish all this, I mean.” Checks to make sure his handgun’s loaded properly, rubs a cloth over the barrel to shine it out. “Could be that Meg’s involved, we use her to get to the thing that got Mom… we kill it, and this is all over. Mission accomplished, right?”

It sounds so goddamn easy when Sam lays it out, but Dean’s not sure it’s going to be nearly that simple. Nudges the next piece closer to his brother when he reaches for it.

“I mean… that’s what I should want, right? To go back.” He curls his fingers around the gun, but doesn’t quite move to pick it up yet. Stares at nothing in particular for the moment, brow furrowed just slightly. “Back to school, back to…” He falters, and Dean hears the unspoken words. _Back to Jess._ “To… everything. Normal life. Wouldn’t that make sense?”

It’s why they got back into this to begin with, and Dean’s inclined to agree. After their mother and Jessica are properly avenged, there’s nothing really keeping them out here, nothing that should really compel them to continue hunting. It’s not the life either of them want right now, even if they’ve gotten so damn good at it.

…right?

“I just…” Sam stops himself, sets the gun down and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. Dean tries to soothe it away, though it’s not easy when his feelings seem to match. “Dean, I don’t… I don’t know if I even want that anymore. Not after- not after everything.”

Dean hears _not after I lost it all._ With such a severe sense of grief under his belt, Dean can’t blame his brother for not wanting to try again. Losing Jessica hit both of them hard, and even the slightest chance of going through that again-

He remembers a cold bathroom and blood on the floor, and doesn’t even want to consider how bad it could be the second time around.

“I don’t know what I want anymore.”

There’s obvious distress in Sam’s voice, and Dean takes the chance to curl around him, warmth and comfort in every way he knows how to express it. Can’t stand the idea of his brother being stressed out over something like this, especially not when they’ve got so much else to worry about right now.

Sam closes his eyes, sighs and seems to let his shoulders slump a little bit. “At least you’ll be there,” he murmurs. “Whatever happens- wherever we end up, we’ll be there together. Right?”

Dean gives one last pulse of energy- of _yes, of course, as if there were ever a different way for us to be-_ before easing up, letting Sam get back to what he’s doing.

He doesn’t know exactly what’s going to be waiting for them in that warehouse, but they’re going to face it together and they’re sure as hell going to kick its ass.

-

Sneaking into the warehouse feels as unsettlingly easy as it did the first time around, and Dean’s tense. Tries to ease up on it so it’s not affecting Sam’s movements, but it’s hard when he can’t think of anything but how this could end tonight- their entire lives might’ve been leading up to this moment, to finally getting a solid lead that will take them to the thing that killed their mother and landed Dean in whatever limbo of a half-existence he leads now. It’s dizzying, and it’s all he can do to ease Sam’s way up the elevator shaft, to make sure Meg isn’t looking their way when they move inside. Sam moves silently, makes his way all the way around to the back of the room, finds himself a good position while he gets his shotgun ready-

“Oh, Sam,” Meg sighs, and Dean watches his brother go tense even as he curls his presence around him protectively, “hiding’s a little childish, don’t you think?”

She still isn’t even facing their way, and it’s all Dean can do not to call this all off right now. To get Sam out as quickly as physically possible and abandon this mission, wait for some backup or some more information on what they’re dealing with. Meg feels too many kinds of wrong for him to count and there’s a heavy, dark taint to her presence and they need to be anywhere but here right now. 

Meg cuts into them before he’s got the chance to make that call. “Why don’t you come on out? I thought we were friends, Sam.”

Sam breathes out hard but they’re running out of options, and a moment later he’s straightening up, still carrying his shotgun loosely. Dean hovers nervously, wants to stay close to Sam but can’t resist trying to plan out escape routes and means of attack. “Yeah, not so much. Where’s your little daeva buddy?”

“Around.” Meg turns to face them slowly, and just like at the bar- there’s a moment where she looks uncertain, eyes darting around above Sam’s head. Dean’s got the unnerving feeling that she knows he’s there, but at the same time… it’s nice to know she doesn’t seem to have any idea of what to do about him. When her eyes settle on Sam once more, her confidence returns. “That shotgun won’t do much good.”

“It’s not for the daeva.” Dean’s reminded all over again that they came in here ready to kill someone who, until proven otherwise, was _human_ \- feels like maybe there should be more hesitation to it, but whatever Meg’s doing here has absolved her of the privilege of Sam’s hesitation. “So what’s this all about? What’re you waiting for?”

Dean sees the shadow before Sam does. It looms up from the floor slowly, something out of an Eldritch horror with claws like razor blades, deadly silent and too fast for Dean to react. It lashes out and Sam goes down hard, a pained, breathless cry torn from his lips as a trio of slashes are carved into his cheek. Dean feels the moment he goes unconscious and starts to move.

He tries to go after the daeva, first, but it quickly proves ineffective. The thing is entirely intangible, not like one of the corporeal monsters that fall to blades or gunfire. It slips back out of existence while Dean tries to find something to grip, a presence to take hold of, but it’s a wasted effort and he’s left in the room with his unconscious brother and the girl who put him in that state to begin with.

Meg’s taken a moment to compose herself, but Dean watches the way her guard stays up and he knows. He knows that she knows that he’s here, and that she’s _scared_ of him. That she doesn’t have a damn clue as to how to deal with him, and that’s the only advantage he needs.

The altar is where he goes next.

Through the dark energy it emits, it remains tied to the earthly plane through stone and blood sacrifice. It’s a physical as the building around them, and it’s a simple matter to overturn the thing, sending candles and iron ornaments crashing to the ground, and that’s when things really start to get messy.

Meg cries out first, makes a fumbled half-lunge towards the altar like she’s going to try to fix it, but she isn’t the focus of Dean’s attention. As soon as the shadow demon rises up from the floor, he’s rushing towards his brother, and-

And Sam isn’t conscious. Sam is lying prone on the floor, nothing but a target for whenever the daeva finishes up with Meg. She’s screaming, now, but Dean can’t spare her a second thought because- because he doesn’t have any options anymore.

Sam fits him like a glove. It feels like second nature to wrap tight around his brother, surround him until suddenly he’s _inside_ , he’s in Sam’s body the way he was in their dad’s, the way he was in any troublesome civilian throughout their lives. It’s the same and it’s familiar and it’s entirely, unimaginably different, because suddenly everything just _fits_.

He almost forgets that they need to be going anywhere at all. It’s the drag of denim on concrete that brings him back into the present, and then he’s moving, bracing Sam’s hands against the floor and starting with a sprint because there’s no time for anything less. Another scream, the sound of glass shattering- he doesn’t think too hard about what’s going on behind them between Meg and the daeva; Dean steers his brother to the fire exit, feels Sam’s soul where he’s nestled against it, quiet and warm and at contrast with the dank stairwell he throws them down. It’s a panicked sort of rush but inside, there’s a sense of content that he’s never known- a sense of belonging that rings of being near Sam, that resonates stronger than ever before.

By the time they hit the street, Dean feels Sam starting to wake up, groggy and distant, and when he realizes he should go- he doesn’t belong here; it’s Sam’s body, and Dean knows how invasive his presence can be inside someone like this- it hurts. It aches with a homesickness he feels in advance, and it’s all he can do to push Sam’s body to run a little faster. It’s dark, but the car has a warm, homey feeling that isn’t hard to track down, and he focuses on that instead of the idea of having to leave.

He’s shut the door behind him before he allows himself to take a proper breath, and Sam’s definitely stirring, confused and lost and poking around in his own head like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Dean’s selfish, and he takes another few seconds to enjoy this warmth- he doesn’t think he’ll be allowed to experience it again anytime soon- before he braces himself and slips away.

The world has never really felt cold before now, and Dean tries not to let himself linger on it. His attention is on Sam, instead, who’s stirring and wincing and reaching up to rub at his head. Dean tries to remember whether or not he’d hit it back at the warehouse and can’t, his mind too busy with everything else happening in their immediate surrounds. Not that it matters; he moves in to work his healing all the same, closes up the bleeding cuts on Sam’s cheek and makes the effort to smooth away the scar tissue before it has a chance to form. 

“Dean?” Sam mumbles, a question that doesn’t really need asking. Dean’s next focus is clearing up the headache his brother seems to be suffering and it works to wake Sam up a lot faster, shaking his head and blinking the haze away. “What happened? Were you-?”

He cuts himself off, and Dean thinks that they both know what he means. It’s not something they’ve tried before- not really even something Dean had considered possible- and Dean’s possessions usually go unspoken between them. It’s one of the powers he doesn’t particularly like to exercise unless entirely necessary, because he’s always left with a distant aftertaste of another soul’s being, its experiences and feelings. This time is different, though- maybe because Sam’s soul is so familiar to him, maybe because they’re two parts of a whole. All Dean’s been left with is a sense of longing to return to that state of wholeness, something he can’t remember ever feeling- maybe not since the fire, maybe never in his entire existence.

Sam clears his throat gently, and Dean tries to reign in his emotions. Guilt, confusion, loneliness- it’s not what either of them need right now, and he isn’t going to help anybody by worrying about his own problems. “Let’s get back to the room,” he says softly, and Dean figures that means that this conversation can wait. Maybe that it won’t happen at all.

He can’t decide which option he prefers.

-

“Just in case,” Sam mumbles as he shoulders the bag of weapons on his way out of the car, and Dean can’t help but agree. The confrontation with Meg had been too close a call for them to be cutting corners now, and there’s not much of a downside to being a little over-prepared. The motel’s quiet this time of night, anyways, and there’s not much of a risk of running into staff or other guests. “We regroup, then hit the road. I don’t… we just gotta look for another case, I guess-”

The door opens with a nudge from Dean, and Sam freezes with one foot through the door. It’s dark, but there’s a silhouette of a man by the window- tall, broad-shouldered. Dean watches the risk assessment cross his brother’s face but he’s already relaxing, a flood of relief and confusion flooding him all at once, and it seems to stop Sam short just in time for the man to turn around, haggard in the face but looking sort of gentle all the same.

Sam’s voice cracks a little when he speaks, and Dean doesn’t know what to do with himself at all. “Dad?”

“Hey, Sammy.” John smiles, just soft, hands in his pockets as Dean flicks the light on with a thought and Sam makes a motion forwards. The smile flickers a moment with Dean’s action and he’s reminded all over again of the conflict that surrounds his existence. “…Dean.”

And it’s obvious that neither of them really know what to do, after months of trying and failing to contact the man, but Sam gathers himself faster than Dean can, even with all the extra emotions trying to throw him off-kilter. He breathes out slow, sets down the bag of weapons and tries for a smile. “Yeah, he’s… he’s here, Dad.” Hesitates a moment and Dean tries to calm himself down, settles around Sam’s shoulders to offer what support he can. At the same time, he’s drinking in the sight of their father, every new line that marks his face, every scar he can see in the dim lighting of the motel room. He’s the same and entirely different, aged by years that the both of them have missed. “What’re you doing here?”

John’s smile turns a little wry, and he shakes his head. “Guess she didn’t tell you, huh?”

“She?” Sam frowns, and Dean’s just as confused. “Meg? Tell me what?”

“It was a trap. Not for you, Sam, but- well, for me. Least that’s how I figure it looks.” He shrugs, looking away. “The thing knows I’m starting to get close. It’s tried to stop me before, and this ain’t any different, ‘cept I guess it saw fit to use you to lure me in this time around.”

The whole thing suddenly makes a lot more sense. If Meg had wanted Sam dead… with the daeva under her influence, she’d have been able to take anyone out on demand, and Sam wouldn’t have been an exception. She needed him alive, to lure him in- with the case, with the victims from Lawrence, with the obvious hideout- because she’d needed him as _bait_.

Suddenly, Dean finds himself wishing they’d hung around a little longer to make sure Meg died slow.

Sam’s thoughts are elsewhere, though, and apparently Dean’s low-simmering rage doesn’t much affect him right now. “It? You don’t mean-”

“The demon, yeah.” John’s smile grows, and there’s something akin to excitement there- the anticipation of a hunt to come, of a life mission they may soon complete. “It knows I’m getting close, and it knows I’m gonna kill it. Not just send it back to Hell- kill it for good.”

Sam’s eyebrows raise, and Dean’s left confused. They don’t know very much about demons to begin with, but he’s pretty confident that killing them isn’t really an option. “How?”

“When I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know.” 

It’s about as much of a response as Dean had expected, and he’s almost relieved. The concept of killing demons- as intriguing as it is, that kind of power sounds terrifying. In the wrong hands…

Well, power in the wrong hands is right up their alley.

Sam doesn’t seem to be entirely concerned with that, though. Instead, he’s visibly anxious, and Dean braces himself for whatever comes next. “Dad- you’ve got to let us come with you.” Dean warms with satisfaction at his inclusion, but his brother doesn’t pause. “Please. We can help, and- and I’ve got to be a part of this. You have to let us.”

John’s eyes flicker up above Sam’s head, around the room- Dean does him the courtesy of nudging a chair to reaffirm his presence, and their dad takes a shaky breath before looking back at Sam. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Sammy.”

But there’s a moment when John’s eyes wander again and he feels himself silently included in the same sentiment. It’s not that he can really be hurt anymore- being dead will do that to a person- but being considered in the protective statement settles something for which Dean has no name. He knows how uncomfortable John is with his existence, let alone with acknowledging it himself, but there’s a quiet acceptance in his eyes that makes Dean think maybe things have a chance of being okay.

Sam’s voice is soft when he replies, and Dean imagines that they’re both getting hit hard with this right now. “You don’t have to worry about me, Dad.”

John’s eyes go soft, and Dean wonders if maybe that’s exactly _why_ he’s worried to begin with. He doesn’t think their dad ever wanted to bring them into this life. No father would wish so much fear and violence on his children, and the regret that he reads in the man’s expression only drives it home further. Maybe it’s too hard to linger on right now, and the subject shifts. “Last time we saw each other… we had one hell of a fight.”

Sam lifts his chin a little higher, and they’re all remembering that moment. Dean curls a little closer to his brother and feels the way his voice tries not to tremble. “Yes, sir.”

“It’s real good to see you again.” John nods once, smiles a little easier now. “It’s been a long time.”

Sam’s eyes are damp and Dean figures he’s not helping, overwhelmed with the feeling of suddenly, momentarily being a family again. “Too damn long.”

The space between them closes and it’s all Dean can do to linger as close as he can, to sap up every bit of warmth and affection being exchanged between his two family members. It’s a good moment, something heavy and clean and freeing hanging in the air. Dean isn’t sure how long the hug lasts, but both of them are crying when they separate, silent, gentle smiles exchanged that say more than they ever could with words.

Dean feels the sudden chill a heartbeat too late.

John’s hit first, thrown across the room as the lights are shot out. Sam cries out and reaches for him, but he hits the ground soon after. Dean can’t do anything; can only watch as his father shouts in pain as the intangible claws hack at his skin. He loses track of his brother in the chaos, in trying to find something to strike at. Trying to help in any way he can, to protect his family even though it seems frustratingly, horribly out of reach.

“Close your eyes!” Sam shouts, then, and Dean’s attention returns to him in an instant. He’s still on the floor, he’s bleeding again, and he’s got his fist around an emergency flare from the depths of the bag he’d brought inside. “This thing’s a shadow demon- let’s light it up!”

And Dean watches as the flare goes up, floods the room with a blinding light and smoke to match. This- this he can help with, because John’s stumbling and none of them can see, but Dean’s got more of a spatial sense than any human could hope to grasp, and it’s a matter of nudging them into each other and then towards the door. Sam trusts him probably to a fault, so it’s easy to lead them outside, coughing and clinging to each other while Sam drags the bag of guns. 

It’s too dark outside after the flare, but they keep moving anyways, down into the alley where the car’s parked. Adrenaline is high and they need to be gone, and Sam’s already leading John right to the passenger’s side door, but-

He hesitates, and Dean knows his brother’s feeling his apprehension. “What?” he whispers, a hand fisted in John’s jacket. They’re both breathing hard, and Sam’s eyes search for him, pupils still trying to adjust to the abrupt change in lighting. “Dean, what’s wrong? We don’t have time for this.”

But this isn’t the right thing to do. Five minutes with them, and their dad’s been attacked. Sam’s already been used as bait to lure him out of hiding, and the demon wants him dead. They’re nothing but a liability right now, and until they’ve got the thing in their crosshairs-

“We can’t just leave him!”

John stays quiet for a moment, but then he’s taking a deep breath and straightening up, one hand braced against the car’s frame. “Dean wants you to go?”

“Dean doesn’t know what he’s saying.” Sam’s glaring at nothing in particular and Dean just pushes harder. They can handle themselves, and their dad can handle himself, and they’re better off apart. “We need to be part of this hunt. We need to catch it together.”

“And we will.” John’s hand lands on Sam’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze, and it’s odd to be on the same side for once. Dean isn’t sure what to do about it. “Just- not yet. We’ve all got our parts to play, and it might be best for us to split up right now. You’ve just gotta trust me, son.”

Sam looks like he’s going to start crying all over again, but then he gives a quick couple nods. “Okay,” he says eventually, swallows hard. “Okay, Dad. Just…” Pauses and looks away like he can’t say the words while they’re making eye contact. “Be careful, okay?”

“’Course.” A tiny smile, and John squeezes Sam’s shoulder again before letting it go. “That goes for you, too.”

He starts to turn away, but Dean darts out to stop him. Doesn’t let himself think about it too hard as he pours his energy into John’s wounds- the cuts and bruises from being tossed around by the daeva- and paints over them with newly-healed skin. It’s harder to clean him up than it is with Sam, but it’s worth the shock and awe on John’s face, and as exhausted as Dean is when he finally returns to his brother’s side, John smiles a little bit and that’s all he really needs.

“You, too, Dean.” He nods once more and then turns away, walking out the other end of the alley towards his truck.

Sam’s quiet as they load up in the car, and by the time the engine’s running, a couple tears have slipped free. He scrubs them away without much thought while Dean finishes up with his healing and settles down to recover.

“We’re gonna see him again,” Sam says quietly. It’s not a question, and Dean’s just thankful for the confidence right now. “We’re gonna meet back up, and we’re gonna find that son of a bitch and end this thing, once and for all.”

They’re on the highway in under an hour, no real destination in mind besides _away_. The radio stays silent and Dean settles in close to his brother, knows that they both need the support right now after seeing their father again only to be separated for everyone’s safety. The demon is feeling threatened, and they’re getting closer.

Son of a bitch doesn’t stand a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer explanation, yay!
> 
> Okay, so first of all: I'm sorry. I suck. This took 1000 years to finish because. Well, because of a whole lot of little somethings that kind of piled into a really big something that was a little bit of school stuff and a little bit of mental health stuff and a little bit of "I started doing a lot of other writing and it was very easy to get distracted from this" stuff, and. I never intended to abandon this story, and I know that's totally what it seems like what with not updating for a year and a half, but there was never a moment when I said to myself "I'm not going to continue."
> 
> Anyways- this chapter ends a little earlier than I was going to end it initially. It's largely because I really wanted to get it published (and a huge shout-out to everyone who's commented letting me know how much they love this story, because every one of you was a huge inspiration for me to keep chipping away at it), and because I was actually able to sit down today and write the last 3000 words of this chapter to tie it up really neatly. The other part is because cutting it off here is going to make the next (final? maybe? we'll see how it plays out) chapter a lot smoother with more of a progression through everything that needs to happen.
> 
> (Also, a general apology if this chapter seems choppy or if the writing is inconsistent. It was. Written across seventeen months. I'll try to clean it up once I have the ambition to look at it again.)
> 
> Anyways- I'm. I'm not going to make any promises I can't keep about update times because obviously I'm the worst, but I can say that I'm going to do my best not to let this get away from me again. I am, in all honesty, very excited to finish it (and I'm really happy I could get myself excited about this story again, because like I said, I've been very easily distracted by dozens of other projects), so with any luck, there won't be nearly the kind of delay that there was here.
> 
> Finally: thank you so much to everyone who's managed to stick with me through this massive hiatus, and thank you for being lovely and encouraging and nudging me to keep writing every now and then. It really means a lot, and I hope this chapter was. Maybe kind of a little worth the wait. Thank you for reading, and I love you all, and have a lovely day. And. I'm all done this super long note. <3
> 
> ALSO: if you want to. See what I'm actually doing with all my time. I'm a lot more active on Tumblr than here, [babybrotherdean.tumblr.com](https://babybrotherdean.tumblr.com), so there's. That.


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